Deep Wounds in Damaged Places
by MoonOfBlue
Summary: Captain Agnetha Clearwater was only meant to stay at the 4077th for a week, but faith had other plans. Meanwhile, Hawkeye's famed charm doesn't work on the reserved surgeon – and worse, she seems to get along with Charles just fine. Charles finds the whole affair incredible amusing, until he realizes that maybe he isn't just spending time with her to make Hawkeye jealous.
1. Chapter 1 - Fresh Blood

_After finishing my first fan-fic, I just couldn't stop writing and this time I'm making a go of my all-time favorite show M*A*S*H. Of course, revolving around my equally favorite M*A*S*H doctor, the wonderfully proud Major Charles Emerson Winchester._

 _I don't own M*A*S*H. Sadly I was born 8 years too late to even make that possible._

 _Sorry for grammar mistakes. I'm not a native English speaker - and Charles certaintly doesn't make it any easier :P_

* * *

 **DEEP WOUNDS IN DAMAGED PLACES**

 **Chapter 1 - Fresh blood**

The heads of the 4077th's outlandish surgical staff had all huddle around Colonel Potters desk, making the already small commanding office seem even smaller. After a long afternoon _and_ part night in OR, Colonel Potter found it incredibly enjoyable that all three of his surgeons and his head nurse were listening in complete silence. Well, a bit too silent…

Potter stopped in the middle of his briefing and gazed over at the head surgeon who appeared to be sleeping with his head against the cupboard.

"Pierce, are you getting any of this?"

"After nine hours of surgery," Hawkeye muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes, "why wouldn't I?"

"I'll leave the summary in his oatmeal," BJ said placatingly. "Please continue, Colonel."

"Right. As I was about to say, Tokyo General has kindly found some time in their busy schedule to think about our tiny neck of the woods and have granted us with a special visiter: An orthopedic surgeon will be joining our staff for the next week so we can get a refresher of what's new in the field of orthopedics."

"Tokyo?" Charles noted with a raised brow. "Someone I have been acquainted with?"

"Could be. Does the name, Agnetha Clearwater, ring a bell?"

"Not as far as I remember…"

Hawkeyes nodding head snapped back up like a yo-yo.

"Agnetha?" he repeated groggily. "That's a woman's name, isn't it? Does that mean we're getting a visit from a female doctor?"

"Ah Pierce, your razor-sharp deduction skills never cease to amaze us," Charles drawled, a scornful smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. Hawkeye rewarded him with a bleary-eyed scowl and a sneer.

Charles scoffed. "Not to mention your savage comebacks…"

"Alright you two," Potter intervened in a brusque tone. "Knock it off. Yes, Pierce, Captain Clearwater is a woman–"

"And she has not come all this way to listen to your worn-out pick-up lines in the OR." Margaret snapped, cutting the Colonel of mid-sentence. "So, could you for once behave like a grown up and _not_ treat her like your next stockroom rendezvous?"

Hawkeye blinked in surprise. "Geez, what did I say?"

"You don't even have to _say_ anything, buster, 'cause I know–"

"Yes, thank you, Major." Potter said loudly, drowning the rest of her outburst. "Listen, I know we're all a bit cream-crackered, so if you children could just pipe down so I could finish and we could all go to bed that would be most appreciated." He looked from Hawkeye to Margaret and finally to Charles, who sat with his arms crossed as if he found the whole thing incredibly pointless. "Good! Now where was I- Ah, yes: Captain Clearwater is visiting our dear neighbors as we speak, so we can expect her sometime tomorrow around lunchtime. Questions? Excellent!" He exclaimed, before Hawkeye could add any final remarks. "Now, go to bed – and that's an order!"

oOo

"Ma'am? We're almost here - the MASH 4077th. Ma'am?"

The sergeant nudged his silent passenger with an elbow and Captain Agnetha Clearwater, who had been dozing with her head in one hand and her arm resting on top of the door, jolted awake.

"Did you party too hard last night, Captain?" the sergeant asked with a smirk, as he steered clear of a giant hole in the middle of the road and Agnes had to cling to her duffle bag when the battered jeep started swaying dangerously.

"No, but the rest of 8063rd did," she said, fighting back a yawn. "I didn't close an eye until four o'clock this morning – two hours before you woke me up."

"Sorry, ma'am, but that was _your_ order, remember?"

"I know, I know. And as long as all of my luggage is still on board when we arrive," Agnes said, when the frazzled jeep took a dive into another pothole, "I might forgive you for taking my ridiculous order so seriously."

She stretched her aching back as much as she dared without letting go of the canvas bag and looked up at the clear blue summer sky. Funny how the world could seem so unaffected when there was a war going on just miles away and young men were fighting for their lives back at the 8063rd. Agnes closed her eyes and tried not to think about it.

The road smoothed out. They drove under a wooden sign and Agnes caught a glimpse of the words: _MASH 4077th – Best care anywhere_ painted in white on the raw planks. Green tents in all shapes and sizes appeared in the distance. The compound between them was empty except for two enlisted men carrying big bags of what seemed to be dirty linens; it looked like the 4077th were sleeping in.

The sergeant parked in front of a long shed-looking building, the unit's hospital, and Agnes crawled out, stiff in all of her joints and limbs.

"You don't know where I can find the CO, do you?" she asked her driver when he handed her suitcases over.

The sergeant jabbed a thumb in the direction of the grey shed. "In there I reckon. The name's Colonel Potter."

"Thanks."

"Good luck, Captain," the sergeant said with a smirk that Agnes didn't find especially reassuring, before he saluted her and drove off. Agnes dumped her luggage next to the bulletin board and walked in through the plywood swinging doors that allowed her to enter the building.

She found herself standing in a rather small office – one bed, a desk, several filing cabinets and a large communications device, took up most of the floor. The room was empty, but this time she had three different set of doors to choose from. She thought she heard noises coming from the ones right ahead and called out tentatively:

"Hello?"

The door was pushed open and a very young corporal, hardly twenty years of age, round-faced and bespectacled, peered out at her. Agnes' unexpected appearance seemed to catch him off guard.

"Captain Clearwater?" he queried uncertainly.

His flurried expression made her smile. "That's me."

"Oh, we weren't expecting you this early!" the corporal exclaimed and hurried into the office, arms full of paperwork. He was shorter than Agnes by about an inch and his clothes were at least a size too big for his squatty stature. "Colonel Potter isn't even out of bed yet."

"I'm sorry, Corporal. With all the fighting in the area, I didn't expect the drive here to go this smoothly. Please, don't wake him up on my account," Agnes added quickly when the young man looked like he was about to drop everything and storm out the door. "I can wait."

"Oh… Uh – good. You want to wait in your quarters, ma'am?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Corporal."

"It's this way, ma'am." As they went through the doors, he spoke over his shoulder: "I'm Corporal Walter O'Reilly, by the way – the company clerk. But you can call me Radar, everybody else does."

"Radar?" Agnes repeated, puzzled.

"Yearh, people call me that because I kinda know when things are gonna happen, before they happen." He gazed up at her a bit shyly and bent down to grab her suitcase. "It'll make sense in a couple of days."

He showed her to the VIP tent that looked exactly like the other ones she had been sleeping in, in the two previous MASH-camps: Neat, spartanly and the canvas walls decorated with maps of the country and pictures of old war heroes. A bed on the right side of the tent, a desk to the left, a footlocker as well as a narrow wardrobe by the far wall constituted the interior. Radar put her luggage down on the floor.

"Anything I can get you, while you wait, Captain? Coffee? It's really not that bad once it's made your tongue numb."

Agnes stifled a grin. "No, thank you… Radar. I'm good."

"Okay. The latrines are behind the hospital and if you get hungry, the mess tent is the big one just outside. You can't miss it, just follow the smell of burnt porridge."

"Gotcha. Listen, I was wondering–"

"Every personal call has to be approved by the Colonel, but I can ask him as soon as he wakes up," Radar responded promptly before Agnes had finished her sentence.

She stared at him dumbfounded and then her own surprise made her laugh.

"Wow – you could have been a wonderful nurse, you know that? I bet that talent comes in really handy with the ladies?"

Radar looked slightly ashamed. "Not really. The lieutenants here can be really mean when they think I can't hear them."

Realizing he had probably admitted to much, he blushed all the way up to the edge of his woolen cap, gave a hasty salute and left the tent. Agnes bit her lips to stop herself from smiling when a puzzled mixture of amusement and compassion overcame her. _Poor kid._

Alone at last, Agnes sat down on the cot and kicked off the uncomfortable high heels that went with the Class A uniform. Rubbing her sore feet, she looked around at her new surroundings and tried to decide whether she wanted to take a nap first or embark on the inevitable task of unpacking her luggage. There was no doubt of what sounded most appealing but before she could make up her mind, her stomach let out a large growl, reminding her that she had left the 8063rd before breakfast had been served.

"Well, no grain no gain," she yawned and reluctantly slid into the heels again.

The mess tent was nearly empty. Except for two enlisted men eating their breakfast in silence, it would have looked like an ominously deserted scene from a bad crime story. The soldier serving the food, a young sergeant, gazed curiously at Agnes when she entered.

"New here, Captain?" he asked, slapping powdered scrambled egg onto her tray.

"On loan only." Agnes bent over the food and squinted at something that was either strange colored porridge or a diluted omelet. "Tell me something: What _is_ that?"

The sergeant shrugged. "Beats me. I only serve the stuff. Wanna try?"

"You know what, I think I'm good," Agnes said, snatching two slices of toast from the table.

"How about some orange juice then?" He leaned towards her and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "Fresh."

Agnes gaped at him. "Fresh as in… _fresh_?"

The sergeant hauled a jug out from under the table and placed it in front of her. The juice, or what was left of it, blushed like an autumn sun.

"Fresh as in 'creatively provided' from a General's stock of oranges in Gimpo."

"Are you kidding me? I haven't had anything fresh since I left Tokyo. Sergeant, you may just have saved my day."

"Always at your service," the sergeant said, grinning at her.

Agnes carried the glass of precious nectar to an empty table and sat down. But before she could dig in, something distracted her – a movement across the compound. A tall, solidly built man in surgical gowns appeared from the grey building and plodded out into the bright sunshine like a sleep walker. His white scrubs were stained with blood, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. He staggered his way to the nearest bench, ripped of his mask and surgical cap, and slumped back against the wall with an observable sigh and closed eyes.

Had he been operating all night? He looked beyond exhausted. Agnes regarded the man for a minute or two before she rose from the table. She seized the glass of orange juice on her way out the tent.

"Looks like you could use this more than me."

The man hadn't moved a muscle, since he had sat down, but the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter open. Despite a not so flattering receding hairline and day-old stubbles, he had an almost noble face, complete with the nose of a Greek statue and eyes so intensely blue that Agnes had the feeling she was being X-rayed. He blinked slowly, as though she had woken him up from a long nap, and reached for the glass.

"Thank you." His voice was faint and rough from fatigue. He pulled himself up against the wall and took a closer look at Agnes and her captain's bars.

"You know," he said and Agnes noticed a distinctive Bostonian drawl when he spoke, "when Colonel Potter told us we could expect a visiting medical personal, I hadn't realized he had sent for miss Nightingale."

"Well, when he heard I had spent the time between wars to become _doctor_ Nightingale, how could he ever turn me down?" Agnes responded with a crooked smile and sat down next to him.

The trace of a smirk twisted the man's lips ever so slightly and he drained all the juice in one mouthful. Then, with a slightly disoriented look on his face, he lowered the glass and stared at it as if it had started speaking gibberish to him.

"Good God," he muttered in a baffled tone. "I must be dreaming already. This actually tasted… good."

"It's fresh."

"In that case, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Captain Clearwater," the doctor said, extending a large hand out to her. "Major Charles Emerson Winchester. How do you do?"

"Compared to you, I can't complain. Are the other doctors still in surgery?"

"I can only assume the fortunate wombats are sound asleep in their bunks," Major Winchester responded wearily, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. "It was of course _my_ patient that, after an hour into my desperately needed respite, started vomiting and ripped a suture which lead to an acute peritoneal hemorrhage."

"Oh, God. Is he all right?"

"Right now…" Winchester heaved a groan when he got to his feet. "I'd say I'm in worst condition than he is."

"Captain Clearwater?" boomed a new voice behind her.

Agnes turned around. Two men were approaching – one was an elderly colonel, the other a younger and slightly taller fair-haired man with kind grey eyes and a silver cross twinkling on his chest.

The Colonel nodded to the Major. "Morning, Winchester."

"Colonel," the tall surgeon responded tersely.

"Captain," the Colonel said to Agnes, greeting her with a sharp, respectful look and a firm handshake; he was a small man in his sixties, but Agnes had a feeling the frail appearance was deceiving. "Welcome to the 4077th. I'm Colonel Potter, commanding officer, and this is our chaplain, Father Francis Mulcahy."

The priest stepped forward, removed his headwear, a weather-beaten panama hat, and shook her hand with a smile.

"A true pleasure, Captain," he said and sounded as gently as Agnes had expected him to. "It's quite an experience having you here. Female doctors are sadly a rare sight in this area."

"We are an exotic and indomitable race," Agnes responded with a smile. "A pleasure meeting you too, Father. And you, sir."

"I see you've already been acquainted with one of my doctors," Colonel Potter said. "Major Winchester was stationed in Tokyo too, not long ago."

"Ah, yes – Tokyo," Winchester sighed mounfully. "The oriental light tower in this sea of despair. So," he said to Agnes, "how is Tokyo?"

"Wet and invaded by soldiers on R&R," Agnes recalled. "The rainy season started just before I left, but not even the worse downfall seems to cool those guys down. The last night I was there I saw three Marines having a pool party – in the gutter. Complete with cocktails and women in tiny bikinis."

Potter and Mulcahy chuckled, but Winchester looked solemn.

"My dear girl," he said. "Know this – after a week here, you will be missing every dirty puddle in that heavenly city."

"The Major's been with us for two month now," Colonel Potter said in a significant tone.

"Really? No more?" Winchester said wryly. "I could have sworn it was years by now."

"So, what did you do before Tokyo, Major?" Agnes asked.

"I resided in Boston," he responded. "Worked as a thoracic surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital. I was, in fact, on the track to becoming Chief of Thoracic Surgery, before this charming place decided they couldn't possibly do without me."

He glanced coolly at Potter and it wasn't difficult to guess who the snide remark was aimed at. Potter looked undisturbed, but the priest blinked uneasily behind his round specs.

"So, Boston?" Agnes said, trying to ease the suddenly strained atmosphere. "I suppose you are a Harvard graduate then?"

As expected, Winchester forgot all about his vexation and straightened slightly, puffing his broad chest out before he retorted haughtily, "Indeed. '43. Graduated _summa cum laude_."

Potter rolled his eyes behind Winchester's back.

"Tell me, Major," he said before the tall surgeon started floating off, "are your bunkmates still asleep?"

"More like unconscious. Why? Are you in desperate need of a dirty witticism?"

"No, I was just going to warn them that we can expect casualties again tonight, maybe even before then," Potter said.

"Wonderful," Winchester sighed. "But in that case, I'd better turn in. Gentlemen. Captain." He turned to Agnes, "I'll hopefully see you later once I revive from this night terror."

He took a gentle hold of Agnes' hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. For a brief moment, his piercing blue eyes were on hers before he strolled back into the hospital to change.

"A Harvard-man _and_ a Boston General surgeon serving here permanently?" Agnes said to Colonel Potter. "How on earth did you manage that?"

"672 dollars and 17 cents," Colonel Potter responded with a knowing smile.

"Sorry?"

"That's how much the Colonel that sent him here owed him after Winchester flattened him in cribbage back at Tokyo General."

Agnes chuckled. "Oh no."

"Hatred doesn't' begin to cover how he feels about this place," Potter said. "I'm sure he has little voodoo dolls of Colonel Baldwin and me somewhere in his foot locker." He shook his head. "I would gladly have sent him back to Tokyo if he wasn't such a talented surgeon, but I'm scared of what we could get instead. His predecessor was a nightmare."

"Frank Burns wasn't exactly a 'do unto others' kind of man," Father Mulcahy said rather dishearteningly.

"No, more like the jaw bone of an ass," Potter said in such a solemn tone that Agnes had a hard time containing her chortle. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"Heard what, sir?"

The Colonel smiled at her.

"Good girl. Tell me something – has anyone showed you around yet?"

"That young corporal – Radar, was it? – showed me to my tent, but other than that, no."

Potter grimaced. "Sorry about the poor welcome, Captain. We've been up to our heinies in wounded since yesterday, so it's about getting some shut-eye when the opportunity finally presents itself."

"I know, Colonel. Don't worry about it. The last couple of days weren't exactly a picnic at the 8063rd either. But I must say, your men act a little bit more responsible. The other camp decided to celebrate the temporary truce by throwing the biggest party south of the border."

Potter snorted.

"I have to admit, I'm not surprised. The 8063rd have a medical staff that makes mine look like boys straight out of Sunday school when it comes to parties."

"Speaking of Sunday," Father Mulcahy said tentatively. "I do hope I will be seeing you in church tomorrow, Captain?"

He looked so endearingly hopeful that Agnes couldn't find it in her heart to let him down.

"Sure thing, Father," she smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

The young priest beamed back at her.

"I better get back to my tent and polish up my sermon then," he said, tipping his hat to her. "Bye for now."

As soon as he had left, Agnes felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm not actually that religious," she confessed to the Colonel. "I hope he doesn't notice."

Potter held up his hand in a soothing gesture. "Don't worry, Captain. The majority here think the Bible is just a fancy, leather-bound bookend to support their comic magazines and crime novels. The good padre is just happy to have someone to speak to."

"Good to hear."

"Say, have you eaten? I reckon we might as well start the tour and why don't we begin in the mess tent. Since it also doubles as our chapel, you better know where it's located."

"Oh – I left my tray back there. I was in the middle of eating when Major Winchester disrupted me."

"Let's find you a new one. If the chow wasn't foul when you go it earlier, it sure is now."

They walked to the mess tent; the tables were now fuller and the food line longer. The camp had awoken. As they went through the swinging doors, Agnes saw a flash of bright yellow swagger out of the tent at the other end. She blinked. It had unmistakably looked like…

"Was that a man in high heels and a yellow sundress or am I more bushed than I thought?"

Colonel Potter chuckled. "Every camp needs a good ol' looney. Ours goes by the name of Maxwell Klinger. He's been trying to get a Section Eight since he got here."

"Well, anyone – man or woman–" Agnes said when they found their place in the food line, "who has voluntarily been walking around in those heels for that long, deserves to go home."

"Never in the sweet name of Carrie's corset let him hear you say that – he only needs two doctors' opinions before he can go home." He put his hand on Agnes' arm. "But most importantly: Don't let his exterior deter you. He's a swell guy and not crazier than the rest of us."

"You know, back at the 8055th, they had a guy who claimed he could predict the number of wounded arriving by talking to the moon at midnight, and a corpsman who whistled constantly during OR sessions because he thought it calmed the blood down and stopped it from leaving the wounds too fast. Nothing in this man's army can deter me anymore."

"That's the spirit, Captain," Colonel Potter said, holding out his tray to the waiting KP soldier.

* * *

 _If was actually writing the part including Father Mulcahy on New Years day, when I read the sad news :( R.I.P William Christopher, you gentle soul._


	2. Chapter 2 - Welcome to the mess

**Chapter 2 – Welcome to the mess**

 _I know it's historically inaccurate to have a female surgeon in the Korean War, but I really like the idea of how a female doctor would cope in a place like the 4077_ _th_ _. Consider it a supposition :P_

* * *

After a rather dull breakfast that was only saved by Colonel Potters fatherly company, Agnes showered, napped, and started unpacking. She had a feeling the sudden stagnation in wounded was nothing but the eye of the storm and she wanted to be ready when it passed – or as ready as she could be. If she had learned anything from the last two weeks in Korea, it was that one could never be completely prepared to face what arrived in the choppers and the war-beaten ambulances. There was always a case grimmer than the day before.

The vilest ones were the soldiers that arrived too late. Not because the doctors had to give up on young men before they even left the compound. No, the worst by far was that it was expected. It was everyday life here. Agnes had never in her medical career given up on a patient back in the States, unless the family had told her to. Here she had no choice. It was like a morbid kind of juggling: a bit too much attention on the wrong ball and you ended up dropping the whole lot.

'It'll get easier' was the catchphrase of every doctor she had talked to so far. She knew they were right. It would always get easier. That was probably what scared her the most.

Agnes took a deep breath and bent over her luggage. She needed music. Next to reading and cross-stitching it was the only thing that kept her mind from wondering off to dark places. She retrieved her travel gramophone from the dark depth of her suitcase, found her collection of records and placed the needle on just the right spot on the vinyl.

There was something about Schubert that gave her the feeling of slowly sliding into a hot bath after a tiresome day. Her sister had always teased her, calling her an old lady, when _Ave Maria_ and _Serenade_ had played in the background when she studied. She didn't mind. Some people inherited their grandfather's stern look or their grandmother's spindly frame. She had inherited their taste in music.

With the violins gently weaving through the tent like a sorrowful breeze, Agnes filled the wardrobe with her clothes and the shelves and footlocker with the rest of her belongings. She was about to hid the empty suitcase under the bed when she realized she had forgotten something in its corner.

The picture.

She hadn't looked at it since she got here. It was easier that way.

 _Why did you bring it in the first place if you can't even bear to have it on display? That's silly!_

It _was_ silly. Nevertheless, when she picked it up, she couldn't face it. She stared at the silvery backside, waiting for courage to show up…

Three sharp knocks on the door startled her, making the frame nearly slide from her hands. She put it down on the table, turned off the music and went for the door.

She had, for some reason, been expecting Colonel Potter, so she had to move her gaze a good size up before she was met with the pretentious smile that belonged to Major Winchester. In contrast to the first time she encountered him, he was now well rested, clean-shaven and sporting olive, bloodless drab from top to bottom.

"Good afternoon, Captain," he said, his tone a charming – and deliberate, no doubt – mix of nonchalance and warm formality. Agnes smiled in spite of herself.

"Major," she said, copying his sober tone. "Revived, I see. How's your patient?"

"Alive and well, thank you, Captain – and please," he added, his blue eyes finding hers, "call me Charles."

She answered his subtle flirting with a cordial smile and shook his hand for the second time that day.

"Agnes."  
Without losing the grip on her hand, Charles retrieved a bottle from behind his back and held it out towards her. Even with her scanty knowledge of wine, Agnes recalled the name _Châteauneuf_ - _du_ - _Pape_ to be anything but a cheap lap of grape juice.

"A compensation for my detestable appearance this morning," Charles said. "And the poor welcome."

"Oh! Thank you, Charles. You really shouldn't have." Agnes smiled penitently up at him. "Especially since I can't enjoy it. I'm allergic to wine. It gives me hives. Sorry."

"Allergic," Charles repeated slowly, retrieving the bottle. "That must be the greatest tragedy I have ever heard."

Agnes let out a wan laugh. "Tell me about it."

"Well, in that case, all I can offer you is a…" Charles paused, clearly searching for the right word but seemed to give up, "ah… lunch in the Mess Tent."

"That I can do. Just let me put my shoes on."

The numerous hooks on her combat boots offered Charles the perfect opportunity to get a closer look at her personal belongings. He found it rather intriguing how much a couple of inanimate objects could tell about a person. He spotted a record player and a large number of books, some new and others with frayed edges and battered spines – the result of being read and re-read multiple times. She had a peculiar and charmingly innocent taste in literature – _A Christmas Carol, Moby Dick, Cranford, The Hobbit, Alice in Wonderland_ and a massive book containing fairytales of H. C. Andersen.

There was also a picture in a silver frame. It showed Agnes and a dark haired man in a close embrace in front of a crooked old apple tree. The passionate way the two looked at each other could only mean one thing.

"Your husband?" Charles asked.

Agnes looked up at him. "Sorry?"

"The man in the picture – is he your husband?"

"No." The shoelaces slipped between her fingers; she tied a hard knot and got to her feet. "Fiancé," she clarified.

"Congratulations," he remarked, only just now aware of the discreet, stone less ring on her left hand.

"Thank you," Agnes responded a bit hurriedly. "Shall we go?"

It was warmer now and the compound was full of life. Enlisted men and nurses – some of which Agnes had already met in the shower – came and went to the mess tent. Charles strolled past them by her side, politely ignoring them. For some reason not even clear to herself, Agnes found his appearance amusing. And maybe a little worrying. He behaved like a swan who had been forced to share his lake with a group of mallards, which gave Agnes a feeling that he couldn't have many friends in this camp.

"Tell me, Captain. Was that Schubert I heard, sweetening this festered place, just before I interrupted?"

"It was."

"I had no idea you possessed an interest in classical music."

Agnes smiled. "It is the soundtrack of my childhood. I spent a great deal of my younger years at my grandparents' house and they shared a deep passion for both classical music as well as operas. In fact, until I was four, I couldn't fall asleep unless Mozart spun in the background, or so I've been told."

"Where words fail, music speaks," Charles said in a soft tone.

Agnes looked up at him in surprise.

"Hans Christian Andersen?" she said.

"Indeed. Quite accurate, is it not?"

"Certainly. He had a great mind. Have you read his work?"

Charles cleared his throat and quoted in a theatrical voice: "'He felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him'."

Agnes smirked. "The Ugly Duckling. Not bad. I have always like: 'Just living is not enough – one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower'."

"Would cold coffee, despair disguised as yesterday's meatloaf and a little mold do?" Charles said, opening the mess door for her.

"Do I sense a bit of an aversion towards the proud army kitchen there, Major?"

"Aversion is a meager substitute for my feelings in this case, Captain."

"Well, I survived breakfast, so I'm still in good spirits."

"I can't decide whether your courage is inspiring or perturbing."

Agnes laughed, realizing why she couldn't dislike the pompous Major. He was too damn quick-witted – a trait she had always admired.

The lunch looked better than the breakfast. It even smelled eatable too. Agnes filled her tray with creamed vegetables along with some meat and potatoes. Then as she turned to leave the queue, she nearly collided, head-to-chest, with a tall, rangy man in a red robe.

"Hi!" he said enthusiastically, sporting cheeky blue eyes and a beam that could charm the birds from the trees.

"Uh – hi," Agnes responded, slightly baffled.

Another guy, taller yet, and with light brown hair and a mustache to match, appeared behind the man. He smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry, miss. I knew I shouldn't have taken the leash off him. I just can't take him anywhere."

"Don't listen to him," Red Robe said, running a hand through his oil black, slightly greying hair with a boyish grin. "He's just jealous because I'm twice as adorable as he is." He grabbed her hand. "Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, head surgeon, but my dream girls call me Hawkeye. I bet you're the wonderful doctor from Tokyo we've been waiting for?"

"I… suppose I am, yes."

"We have a table with your name on it. If you will just walk this way, Madame."

"I-" Agnes began, but then came a familiar dry voice above her head, when Charles intervened:

" _We_ already have a table, Pierce. I didn't want to ruin the poor woman's appetite with your cheap fawning from the very first day."

"So, you decided to bore her to death first?" Hawkeye said and stepped closer to Charles, trapping Agnes between the two towering surgeons. "How nice of you, _Shharles_."

"Oh I see you have finally rediscovered your stock of cliché retaliations, I'm so happy for you, _Pierce._ "

Agnes caught eyes with the mustached man next to Hawkeye and got a resigned smile in return.

"I'm BJ," he said, offering her his hand. "Welcome to the 4077th pre-school. Let's get out of here before those two start to throw creamed peas at each other."

Agnes followed him to a vacant table at the other end of the mess tent.

"Sorry about that," BJ said and sat down. "We don't get a lot of visitors here."

"That's quite all right," Agnes said, gazing over at Hawkeye and Charles, who had just discovered they were fighting without an audience. "Was it BJ you said? What does that stand for?"

"Anything you want."

Agnes pondered for a second and declared soberly: "Balthazar Jiggumbob it is then."

BJ let out an unrestrained guffaw just as Hawkeye and Charles reached their table.

"What's so funny?" Hawkeye said, sliding in on the bench next to Agnes before Charles could claim the seat.

"Oh, not much," BJ said in an innocent tone as Charles sat down. "I just told her my name, that's all."

Hawkeye gaped at him across the table.

"What! You told the newcomer but you won't tell me, your best friend? I don't believe you!"

BJ waved his hand with a casual smile. "I guess it just slipped."

Hawkeye eyed him suspiciously.

"You didn't!" He turned towards Agnes. "Did he?"

"There's really no need to lose sleep over it," Agnes said with a shrug, encouraged by BJ's smirk, and tried the creamed vegetables. "It wasn't even _that_ funny now that I think about it."

Hawkeye's expression of utter distrust made Charles snort and Agnes' straight face crumpled completely.

"Funny, very funny, you bonehead," Hawkeye said tartly when BJ grinned at him. "I'm gonna be all brushes when I'm done slapping my thighs."

"Oh, come on, Hawk. It was just a joke," BJ said in a mitigating tone. "But you gotta admit: Captain Clearwater played along quite well, don't you think?"

Hawkeye scowled at him. "Nnngh…"

"Sorry, Captain, I had no idea how much it bothered you," Agnes said, biting back her smile. "If I ever find out what BJ truly stands for, I'll tell you." She reached for her glass to try and wash down the dry meat but realized she hadn't brought one to the table. "Oh, shoot, I forgot my water."

"Allow me, Captain," Charles said, already beginning to rise.

"You really don't have to, Major–"

"Please, it would be my pleasure," Charles said, gesturing to Agnes to stay seated. "Consider it an inadequate oblation for the orange juice this morning."

"The orange juice?" Hawkeye repeated in bewilderment. "What orange juice?"

"Oh, nothing you should worry your vacuous mind about, Pierce," Charles said, a devious smile curving his lips.

"What is this – mock-Pierce-day, or what?" Hawkeye said with a pout and pretended to leave the table. "I think I'll move seats."

"Oh don't, Captain," Agnes said, putting a hand on his arm. "We'll behave, I promise."

"Well, maybe I'll forgive you," Hawkeye said lightly, his resentful tone suddenly gone like dew before the sun. He smiled at her. "But it'll cost you a dance in the Officers Club tonight."

"You don't wanna dance with me, Captain – I have two left feet."

"You're in luck. I got two rights ones. Together we'll make two perfect people."

Agnes didn't have time to think of a quick response. The P.A. system crackled and a voice said:

" _ATTENTION, all personnel!_ _Sorry to interrupt what the army insists on calling lunch, folks, but we've got wounded on the way. All medical personnel must report to duty ASAP as possible."_

BJ sighed and put his knife and fork down. "Recess's over."

"This is the life here," Hawkeye said, getting up. "Moving from one mess to another. Welcome to the 4077th, Captain."


	3. Chapter 3 - Operation ruffle

_I really am enjoying the tension that were between Hawkeye and Charles in the first couple of episodes of season 6 - it's such a blast to write about Charles being more snooty than normal :P_

 _Thank you all for your kind respons to this story. I will try to write as often as possible._

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Operation ruffle**

Just ten minutes after the P.A. announcement, the compound was turned into an organized chaos: Ambulances dropping of their injured, moaning, crying and lifeless load and went off again; nurses, corpsmen and the doctors of the 4077th attending every patient and carrying stretchers into Pre-op. The rules were simple: If he can scream, he can wait.

"How good is your battlefield triage training, Captain?" Colonel Potter asked Agnes, when they nearly collided over a young man with a bloody bandage on his head.

"I've tried it a couple of times, sir."

"And besides from the cold facts I've seen in your file, how's your combat surgery?"

"Not bad, if I may say so. I have had nearly two months of field training."

"That's good enough for me." Potter pointed towards a row of patients near the entrance to OR. "You go check on those men over there and you bark out if you find someone who can't wait. Lieutenant Harris will assist you," he said, waving a young, brown-haired nurse over.

"Yes, sir," Agnes said, stepping aside quickly, when two corpsmen came running past her with a litter. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

She had meet Harris before lunch; she was a quiet girl, who didn't make much fuss of herself, but she turned out to be most effective:

"Doctor, I have started a blood transfusion on the chest wound and I've put pressure on this guy's shoulder."

"Good job. Better get another unit ready for the chest wound, 'cause he'll have to wait. This head injury is pretty bad. Who's your neurosurgeon here?"

"I think Hawkeye comes closest – _Captain Pierce_!"

Hawkeye came running from the other side of the compound, his stethoscope swinging as he strode over a soldier on the ground.

"You rang, my ladies?"

"I heard you are the head-man here," Agnes said, checking the young mans pulse. "I might have a subdural hematoma for you: One pupil dilated and hardly responding."

"I got a belly wound and a shattered hip over here, _mon capitan,_ who need to go in as soon as possible. Wanna switch?"

"Deal."

She got to her feet and Hawkeye, his hands already smeared with blood up to both wrists, took over.

"Nurse, get him prepped and put him under. I'll check de others and go scrub op. Captain, your new patient is the one next Major Houlihan."

"Who?"

Hawkeye pointed across the compound. "Our head nurse. The blond one with the fierce expression."

'Fierce expression' turned out to be pretty accurate. Long before Agnes had reached her, she heard the platin blond major shout out orders in a particularly peremptorily tone to every person around her, while she still had time to stabilize the soldier by her feet.

"Baker – I need 16 milligrams of morphine on the double! Kellye, Harris – go find some more bandages to Hunnicutts patient! KLINGER! Get your Lebanese butt over here NOW or I'll..!"

"Sorry – Major Houlihan?" Agnes interrupted cautiously.

The Major looked up and Agnes was ready to take a precautious step back, but then the blond head nurse's face softened slightly.

"Captain Clearwater?" she said and even smiled. "I'm sorry I haven't been around to introduce myself. I'm Margaret Houlihan, the head nurse."

"Hi – Agnes," Agnes said, exchanging a quick, bloody handshake with the female Major. "I'll have to owe you the rest of the introduction, Major, Captain Pierce said this man needed surgery right away."

"I'll show you to the scrub room," Major Houlihan said, gesturing to Agnes to follow her. "Corpsman! Get this man into OR right away."

oOo

A nurse, who's name Charles couldn't recall for the life of him even though he had tried for at least half a minute, helped him into his gloves and took her place on the other side of the operation table, waiting. BJ, already with his hands deep inside a critical patient, cursed under his breath behind him.

"Problems, Hunnicutt?"

"This kid's running out of liver," BJ responded, slightly tense, behind his mask. "I hope I can save enough. Suction."

"Your patient is ready, doctor," the nurse informed Charles, when his chest patient was under.

"Thank you. Scalpel. And keep the blood coming, please, nurse."

The door swung open and Agnes came into the OR, sideways with her sterile hands in the air. She looked surprisingly unaffected by the sudden dramatic turn her first day had taken.

"How are you holding up, Captain?" Charles asked her, when she slid into surgical gloves.

"Oh, you know," Agnes said, waving her hand casually, "keeping busy. Never been much for a quiet day at the office."

"This isn't your first time doing combat surgery, is it?" BJ asked her, when her patient had been sedated and she went straight to work.

"Far from. I spent a month on board the Jutlandia, then three weeks in Tokyo before I came out here."

"Jutlandia?" Charles repeated. "As in – the Danish hospital ship?"

"The very same."

"So, you have been spending over two month her _voluntarily_ , when you could have been safe back home," Charles noticed and raised a roguish brow at her. "My dear, I'm sorry to break this to you, but you are a bit mad. Retractor."

"Come now, Major – mad? Just because I couldn't let you boys have all the fun to yourself?" Agnes responded, smiling crookedly behind her mask, just as Hawkeye came strolling into the OR.

"All the fun? Are you talking about me?" he quipped, looking over Agnes shoulder to appraise her work.

"Indeed, we are, Pierce," Charles said. "You are equally – clamp – as entertaining as this prolonged, inconvenient war."

"Well, what can I say, I have my moments. That is _very_ good work there, Captain – or may I call you Agnetha?"

"It's usually just Agnes."

"Even better," Hawkeye purred. "Listen, Agnes, do you have plans tonight?

"Other than passing out, when I'm done here, you mean?"

"Why don't I show you the O-club, is great this time a year, when the drunk blooms…"

"Captain Pierce," Margaret called out from the other end of the operation room, a slight edgy tone in her voice. "Your patient is nearly ready."

"Coming, coming!" Hawkeye said, reluctantly withdrawing to his own table.

"And frisky comeback in three, two, one…" Charles mumbled.

"Margaret, has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look, when I drive you crazy?"

Agnes let out a snuffle of restrained laughter and didn't even had to look up to know, that the Bostonian surgeon's angelite-colored eyes were right now narrowing because of an outmost complacent smirk in her direction.

oOo

Finally, after seven hours of surgery, Agnes could hand over her last patient to the corpsmen and step out of the closed air in the OR. As she stood and enjoyed the feeling of being able to breath freely without the thick cotton mask, the double doors clattered behind her and Charles and Hawkeye appeared by her side, both blood smeared and tired-looking.

"I have got to say, Captain," Charles said, rubbing his sore neck, "that the job you did rebuilding that boy's knee was quite impressive."

She smiled. "Thank you, Major."

"Just out of curiosity, where did you get your degree?"

"University of Pennsylvania."

"Ah, well – all diamonds must derive from the soil."

Agnes huffed a laughter, not really sure whether to be flattered or insulted on behalf of the institution.

"You know what, Charles," Hawkeye said through a long yawn. "I don't know anyone like you, who can turn a single sentence into both a compliment and a denigration. Did you take a separate subject at Harvard?"

"It's quite understandable that you have never encountered it before, Pierce," Charles responded loftily. "To appreciate the many intelligent possibilities of the English language, one must first _have_ an intellect."

"Gracious me, I have a feeling I have just been derided."

"Well done, Pierce, you have indeed."

"Did you know," Agnes said with feigned pensiveness and stretched her arms above her head, "that hunger and fatigue can make a person say things they don't actually mean? It's a quite common physiological phenomenon that occurs when one's blood sugar is too low."

The two hotspurs pretended not to understand the hint and kept their hard stare at each other. Agnes sighed and left to scrub up, internally wondering how Charles and his holier-than-thou attitude had managed to stay alive for two whole months. If that wasn't a miracle, she wasn't sure what is should be called.

"You're just jealous because your charm isn't working on her, aren't you, Pierce," Charles sneered to Hawkeye's back as they stepped into the men's scrub room.

"If you think that means she into _you_ , you balding beetroot, then you're crazier than I thought."

"I cherish no tender feelings towards her. Besides," Charles said calmly, pulling his blooded gowns off, "she's soon to be married, so it would only spark a needless drama which I have no intentions of being a part off."

"Are you talking about Captain Clearwater?" BJ asked, already out of his white scrubs.

"Yeah, Agnes – wait a minute," Hawkeye said, glaring at Charles with a suspicious frown. "How do _you_ know she's engaged?"

"While you two nightcrawlers were busy sleeping, I became acquainted with Captain Clearwater," Charles responded nonchalantly. "I meet her when she arrived and I had a pleasant talk with her before lunch."

"Well, so what if she's engaged," Hawkeye said, trying to sound careless, but he didn't look so sure of himself anymore. "She has willingly left the guy for two month, that doesn't sound like a happy engagement to me?"

"You don't know anything, Hawk," BJ remarked. "Maybe he's in Tokyo? Or he could be a soldier too? That would explain why she's here."

"You know what?" Hawkeye declared and washed the blood of his hands. "I'll get to the bottom of this. Preferably over a drink in the Officers Club. Or the Swamp. You rats are not going to be home tonight, are you?"

"Hawkeye – she's engaged. Forget her!"

"I can't. Didn't you see her in OR? That girl is really something."

As much as Charles hated to agree with the womanizing surgeon, he was quite right. Agnes was going to be an enjoyable temporary contribution to the medical staff. She was caring, intelligent and not bad to look at either. You couldn't exactly call her beautiful, but she had a very attractive, lopsided smile and eyes that would have made Lord Byron swoon: Big, expressive and neither fully brown nor green. Her hair, cut short, was dark like well-oiled mahogany. And the best part was that she seemed fairly unimpressed by Pierces' shameless flirtation, which clearly drove him mad. This, Charles thought, could turn out to be _most_ entertaining, if he played his cards well.

"Even though I _hate_ to abolish your plans, Pierce," he drawled – and enjoying every moment of it. "I hope you haven't forgotten that you are on duty tonight – in half an hour to be exact."

Hawkeyes face fell.

"Damn, that's right. Uh – Beej, you wouldn't mind trading, would you?"

"Sorry, pal, I have a patient in the village afterwards. It's a sick little girl, I can't just put her off until tomorrow."

"Oh, don't worry, Pierce," Charles said contemptuously. "You can still enjoy as nice evening with Captain Clearwater in Post-Op. Nothing like candlelight dinner to the soft moans of badly injured soldiers."

Snickering, he left the scrub room. Hawkeye threw the soap back in its holder and turned to BJ, frowning.

"Some friend you are," he grumbled.


	4. Chapter 4 - Scheme á la Winchester

_Had to make a small adjustment in the earlier chapter, because I realised that Lt. Carpenter doesn't show up until much later in the story. I put Harris in instead, since she's also one of my favourite nurses in the series :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Scheme á la Winchester**

Once again in her green suit, Agnes went straight to Colonel Potter's office and after he had permitted her a call home, Radar promised he would try to get through to her parents in Philadelphia the first thing in the morning. The prospect of talking to her mother and father for the first time in a month renewed her energy and Agnes even caught herself looking forward to dinner, no matter what awaited her in the mess tent. She bumped in to the young chaplain in the food line.

"Good evening, Father."

"Ah, hello, Captain," Father Mulcahy said, smiling at her. "I'm glad to see the OR session haven't left you all worn-out."

"If it had, I would be too tired to notice." Agnes picked up a tray and leaned forward to get a look at the serving table. "Do you know what's on the menu?"

"I'm still plucking up the courage to ask," the priest responded, sounding wary.

They inched forward, when the line moved and Agnes realized that the sergeant handing out food looked familiar. It took her a few seconds to recall that he was the one who had given her the orange juice the same morning. Funny, it felt like this morning was days ago.

"Hey, I know you," the sergeant said, when she reached the serving table. He winked at her. "Captain loan-only. How was the juice?"

"I never actually got to taste it," she admitted. "I ended up giving it to someone else."

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"Me too, but he deserved it more than I."

Speaking of the sun, when she moved to the coffee dispenser, she spotted Charles in the crowd. Despite the tent being half full, he was sitting by himself, a leather-bound book open in front of him. None of the nurses seemed very eager to join him and the enlisted men were clearly ignoring him. Having witnessed his superior behavior towards the corpsmen in OR on first hand, so she could hardly blame them – but she still couldn't help but to feel bad for him.

She leaned towards Father Mulcahy, who was filling his coffee cup, and whispered:

"He's not the most popular person in this camp, is he, Major Winchester?"

"It hasn't been easy for him to adjust to our ways here," Father Mulcahy responded quietly, after he had followed her gaze to the lonesome major. "He's used to a certain standard, which I'm afraid is quite hard to accomplish in a place such as this."

 _And his ego isn't making it any easier for him_ , Agnes thought.

"You think he wants company?"

"Even if he did, he would never admit it," Mulcahy responded with a small, knowing smile. They walked to Charles' table and Agnes sat her tray down next to his.

"Good evening, Major. Mind if we join you?"

Charles looked up and smiled at her.

"Not at all," he said, closing the book. "This excuse of a meal requires company beyond average." He nodded to the priest. "Father."

 _Good grief, a whole sentence without him disparaging anyone – present at least. I think we are making progress._

"What were you reading?"

"Spinoza," Charles responded, tucking the book into his chest pocket. " _On the Improvement of the Understanding_."

"Spinoza?" Mulcahy said. "The philosopher?"

"Indeed."

"Oh," Agnes said, which was about the brightest response she could come up with. She had never been much for philosophy – and she hadn't the faintest idea of who this Spinoza-fella was. Thankfully, Mulcahy changed the subject before Charles noticed the awkward pause:

"My, it's funny how the food almost taste good, when you're starving," the priest noted merrily, after he with great caution had tried a spoonful of creamed potatoes.

Charles speared a piece of what Agnes assumed was meat and hold it up to his face, glaring at it with eyes narrowing in discontent: "I do envy you your amenable taste buds, Father."

"Oh, come on, Major Grouser," Agnes said lightheartedly, "it could be a lot worse. When I was visiting the 8055th, they served a soup that tasted the way my grandparents' basement smelled after it had been flooded for a week."

"Your attempt to justify this swill, Captain," Charles responded dryly and drowned the meat in tomato sauce before eating it, "is admirably, but the fact that our kitchen has the lowest population of rats in all of Korea, should be considered some kind of warning sign."

Agnes shrugged and chewed through a mouthful of beans.

"Maybe they are just trying to avoid KP – rats are not senseless creatures, you know."

"Are you telling me, we are being outsmarted by vermin?"

"Well, it's certainly not the rats who are killing each other in the second year, because both sides are too proud to even consider ceasefire, now, is it?"

Charles looked like he couldn't decide whether to scoff, frown or snort and he ended up with a reluctant: "Touché."

"Howdy, children," came Colonel Potters rough voice from behind them. "Is seven a crowd?"

He scooted in next to Agnes, while BJ took a seat beside Charles. Radar and the infamous Klinger, now in a delicate pink and flowery dress, sat down on Mulcahy's side of the table. The Lebanese corporal greeted Agnes with a wide grin.

"Doctor Clearwater, I presume? How _wonderful_ it is to meet you. I'm corporal Maxwell Kli…"

"Klinger, I have already warned her about you," Potter intervened calmly, "and no – she won't sign your section 8."

Klinger's smile faded. "Aw… Well, you can't blame a girl for trying."

"Sorry," Agnes said with a chuckle. "The Colonel nearly made me take a vow. It is a wonderful dress though. I could never wear a color like that myself; with my complexion, I just end up looking like a sick ghost."

"It's the blessing of my Mediterranean genes," Klinger responded with a toothy smile. He then squinted and looked Agnes up and down. "But you're right. For your skin tone, I would definitely recommend something darker. I have just the prettiest peacock blue dress…"

"Klinger," Charles cut through in a strained tone, "must we _partout_ endure your abnormal occupation with woman's wear during meals? Isn't it enough we have to look at it all day long?"

"Why, you certainly are a ray of sunshine today, Major," Potter noticed. "What's the matter? Have your Earl Grey Tea gone spoiled?"

"He's just jealous, because _he_ can't find a dress that makes his legs look that good," BJ sniggered. Charles ignored him completely.

"With all due respect, Colonel, what did you expect with six hours of sleep in the last two days?"

"I think you need some cheering up, Winchester – why don't you join the rest of us in the Officers Club afterwards? We have to celebrate that Captain Clearwater passed her first 4077th-OR session with flying colors."

Charles opened his mouth to object, but then a flash of something crossed his blue eyes and he appeared to change his mind.

"You know what, Colonel," he said, a lot milder than Agnes had hear him speak all day. "That's not a bad idea. When I have checked up on my patient from this morning, I think I will. When is – uh – Pierce done in Post-Up?"

"BJ's reliving him about 10 p.m.," Potter responded.

"Oh, good," Charles said with a slight simper that made Potter and BJ exchange frowns.

oOo

The Officers Club was crowded and noisy and half the guest were already more or less drunk. Unsurprisingly. Agnes squeezed in around a corner table with Colonel Potter, Radar and Charles. The older men glared at her when she ordered the same as Radar – a Grape Nehi.

"What? I can't call my mum or show up at Sunday service with a head on."

"I wish the rest of this camp had just a touch of your conscience," Potter rumbled, before he and Radar left to get the drinks. "Counting me."

"You don't mind the rest of us drinking?" Charles questioned.

"No, not at all. That's the funniest thing about staying sober – watching the rest of you behave like loonys."

"In this camp you don't have to be around sozzled people to perceive such behavior," Charles said, offering her the bowl of pretzels. "Just spend an afternoon cooped up in a tent with Pierce and Hunnicutt and you'd wish _you_ were intoxicated."

Agnes chuckled. "They really are one of a kind, aren't they?"

"Of the finest buffoons, this camp has ever seen," Charles professed, as their drinks arrived. "The walking cracker joke machine and his trusted halfwit."

"Go easy on that stuff, Captain," Potter warned Agnes in a paternally tone. "It'll make you sweat purple for a week."

Radar lowered his bottle at once, looking uneasy. "It will?"

Potter patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, son, I'm pretty sure you're immune after all this time." He sat down next to Agnes. "Now, Captain, I have been dying to know more about your stay on the hospital ship. Heard a lot about them, but never been on one myself."

"Indeed," Charles said, sipping his cognac. "How on earth did you manage that?"

Agnes smiled impishly.

"Sometime it's swell to know someone, who knows someone who pulls all the important strings. My father has a very good friend back in Denmark, who is the brother of Captain Hammerich, the senior officer on board. It required a weekend of urgent persuasion, while the ship was back home, but the Captain gave in at last. Of course, it helped that they were short on orthopedic surgeons and that I'm fluent in both English and Danish."

"Oh, you've got Viking blood in you, have you?"

"Partly. My father is from Denmark. He immigrated to Pennsylvania, when he was 22."

"Hey, I know a Danish word," Radar added and raised his bottle. "Skål."

Agnes laughed. "Impressive. Who taught you that?"

"My uncle Ed," the boy responded, sheepishly proud. "He can drink in seven different language."

Charles, who had been watching the door, glanced at the clerk with a haughty smirk, before turning to Agnes.

"Your name is a bit of a mystery to me," he said. "'Clearwater' doesn't sound very Scandinavian."

Agnes smiled, shaking her head. "No, my father was born 'Kjærgård', but no one in this country can pronounce it, least of all spell it, so he took my mother's name, when they got married."

"How… wonderfully outré," Charles responded evenly. Agnes responded with a knowing smirk.

"It saved a lot of broken tongues."

She continued the conversation with Potter about her stay at the hospital ship, while Charles drifted in and out occasionally, when he could break attention away from his cognac and the door. He was clearly waiting for someone, but Agnes couldn't quite figure out who – and with her back to the door, she couldn't even peak secretly to find out. The O-Club got fuller and fuller still, but the Major ignored them all. Just when Agnes had started to find his behavior slightly rude, he suddenly put down his empty glass, granted her his most amiable smile and said:

"My, I need to stretch my legs. Care for a dance, Captain?"

Agnes hesitated for a second, just as long as it took Charles to get up from his chair. She should say no; she had already said no to Hawkeye, but her curiosity got the better of her, when she realized Charles intended to dance to… Doris Day.

"Sure. I must say, you don't quite strike me as a Doris Day-man?"

"We all have our hamartia," Charles retorted dryly, as he led her out on the fairly bare area between the tables and the bar that doubled as the dance floor.

"Is that so? I happen to like her."

"My point exactly," Charles responded with just a hint of a smug smile and Agnes rolled her eyes, more good-heartedly than she intended. She forgave to easily, but now that Charles had finally stopped his door-glaring and instead had his full attention on her, he was a very capable dance partner.

"Tell me, Captain," he said in a lofty tone, when two corpsmen climbed the bar, singing along to 'Tea for Two' at the top of their plastered lungs, "were the parties on board the ship equally as entertaining?"

Agnes chuckled. "Rarely. You guys sure know how to have fun."

Charles put up a mock offended expression. "I do hope you know that I'm certainly not one of the 'guys'."

"Yes, I had started to realize that…"

Someone in the crowd of dancing bodies struck Agnes, causing her to stumble forward and bump rather forcefully into Charles. The brief second her pelvis grazed his and her chest was pressed against him, she was overwhelmed by the warmth of his body and the dark, masculine scent of his cologne. She hadn't been so close to anyone since…

"Pardon me, Major," she spoke quickly, stepping back to safe distance, her face flushed.

Charles looked down at her, a crooked smile tucking at his lips.

"Not to worry… Captain. No harm done," he responded, his voice just a tad softer and deeper than usual, and to her surprise – and slight embarrassment – Agnes felt the flush in her cheeks turn into an actual blushing. Damn him. That man could be so ruthlessly charming when he wanted to.

"Hi, there!" came a sudden excitable voice from the throng. "Mind if I cut in?"

"As a matter of fact…" Charles began, but the person had already grabbed Agnes by the arm and hauled her towards the piano, as far away from Charles as possible. Turning her head in surprise, Agnes met Hawkeye's water blue eyes. He winked at her and put his arm around her waist, swirling her around to the music.

"Don't mention it," he said with a generous smile, "it was my pleasure."

"What was?" Agnes asked, slightly confused.

"Saving you from Major Ego."

Behind her dance partners arm, she caught a glimpse of Charles. He had returned to Potter's table and was following Hawkeye's every move with a fuming glare.

Agnes looked up at the dark-haired surgeon and raised a brow. "I had no idea I needed saving?"

"I saw the silent cry for help in your dreamy eyes," Hawkeye chirped. "Who am I to turn down a damsel in distress?"

"Mmm," Agnes responded neutrally.

"I've heard you are engaged," Hawkeye said, completely out of the blue. "Congrats."

"Thanks."

"Problems at home?"

Agnes looked up at him, feeling a sudden familiar tension in her chest.

"Why do you say that?" she asked warily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… unusual to leave one's fiancé behind and travel to the other side of the world – voluntarily. I _do_ hope everything's just fine between you."

Agnes hesitated.

"It is," she said. "I just wanted to help."

The song ended. They were so close to the bar, they could practically just turn around and take a seat on the chairs. Hawkeye gestured to a vacant one.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Uh, no thanks, I don't drink," Agnes responded quickly. "Besides, I promised your chaplain I would stop by the service tomorrow morning and it's getting quite late, so…"

"Right, of course," Hawkeye said, trying not to dwell too much on her evasive tone. "I… I'll see you tomorrow then"

"Thanks for the dance. Good night."

Hawkeye watched her leave. The door had just barely closed behind her, when a voice chuckled maliciously in his ear:

"Well, well, Pierce. I thought you were infallible with the fairer sex."

"Oh, go lick on the generator," Hawkeye muttered and left to join Potter and Radar at their table, leaving Charles behind. The Bostonian surgeon smiled to himself, before zigzagging his way out of the Officers Club and out into the chilly evening. He had planned to stroll back to the Swamp, perhaps enjoy the memory of Pierce's face, when he had seen him dance with Agnes and then go to sleep himself, but when he came into earshot of Agnes' quarters, he heard music: A classical, but unknown piece – beautiful and melancholy at the same time. He walked slower and slower, until he found himself standing still in the middle of the compound, listening. Then, by reasons even unknown to himself, he turned on his heels and headed for the V.I.P. tent.

After a couple of long seconds, she answered his three knocks with a tentative: "Yes?"

"It's Ch… Major Winchester."

Agnes opened the door and looked up at him in pending silence. With the light from the tent behind her, her eyes seemed positively dark, almost black.

Charles cleared his throat.

"You left so sudden, I just wanted to make sure Pierce hadn't offended you with his lewd manners."

Agnes smiled a little, though it seemed partly forced.

"No, I'm sorry," she responded. "It wasn't anything like that. It's just been a long day and I'm beat."

"Of course." Charles eyes wandered through the tent without him really thinking about it. He noticed that the silver frame with the picture of her and her fiancé had been laid flat down on the table, backside up. "As long as everything is fine?"

"It is."

A slightly awkward silence rose between them. He should be going, but the uneasy feeling that something wasn't quite right, nailed him to her door step. The music seemed even sadder now.

"I don't think I'm familiar with this piece," he said. "It's very beautiful."

" _Suite for Strings,_ by Carl Nielsen, a Danish composer. My father is very fond of him." Agnes smiled, a small but genuine smile this time. "It reminds me of Copenhagen. Have you ever been to Copenhagen, Major?"

"Regretfully, no. But I've heard it's a charming little capital."

"Charming doesn't even begin to cover it. It's beautiful: From the vibrant flower lawns in the Kings' Garden to the glowing atmosphere in Tivoli, a warm summer evening…"

Her voice trailed off very suddenly. She swallowed and cleared her throat, then a thin smile flickered across her lips.

"I'm sorry, Charles, I don't want to sound rude, but I better turn in. I really am quite tired."

"The apology is all mine," Charles said softly and withdrew from the doorway. "I'm the one keeping you up. I bid you a good night."

"Good night, Major."


	5. Chapter 5 - Plot thickens

_I know it doesn't show here, but I swear, I have nothing against Hawkeye. I'm just having such a blast with him and Charles and their strained relationship ;)_

 _Thank you for all your reviews - just like everyone else on this site, I'm a sucker for feedback :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 5 - Plot thickens**

Corporal O'Reilly was already up and about, when Agnes showed up in his office the next morning. Did that boy ever sleep? He had still been up, when she went to bed last night and by the look of his desk, he'd already been hard at work for hours.

"Good morning, Radar."

"Morning, ma'am," he said, flipping switches on the communication device. "I'm already through to Honolulu. I'll only take a couple of minutes."

"Great. Thanks."

She sat down on the edge of his cot and looked around in the clerk's office that also doubled as his sleeping quarters. He kept it neat and cleaned. His bed was made, but there was a small lump tucked in between the wall and his pillow. Leaning closer, Agnes saw something brown with round, fluffy ears and a little, red tongue poking it's head out from under the woolen covers. A teddy bear.

Radar followed her gaze and blushed spontaneously, when he realized what she was looking at.

Agnes smiled at him.

"I like your bear."

"Uh, thanks," the young corporal mumbled, his cheeks glowing furiously. Feeling bad for having embarrassed him yet again, Agnes rose from the bed as she unbuttoned and reached into her left chest pocket. She placed a miniature teddy bear on his paper; it was about as tall as her finger. Radar glared at it through his thick glasses.

"This is Alfie," Agnes said warmly, as if she was introducing a dear friend. "He took care of my grandfather during World War 1, sitting in his left chest pocket through mortar attacks and sniper shots, and got him home alive. When I left the States, my grandmother gave him to be for protection. I promised her never to go anywhere without him"

Radar bent down to get a closer look at the bear. "He's so tiny!"

"Well, my granddad wanted to bring their neighbors' vicious dog instead, but his pockets weren't big enough, so he had to settle with Alfie."

"He's really…" Radar cut himself of bluntly and turned his attention to what happened inside his headgear. "Oh, wait a minute - hallo? Hallo! Is this the operator in Philadelphia? Oh, great! Sorry about the bad connection, ma'am, I'm calling from Korea… No, not down from the marina – Korea! K-O… Oh, never mind, hang on a second…"

He handed Agnes the headphones and the mouthpiece.

"Hallo? Could you place a call to Morris Street, 2021? Thank you."

She waited. Even the static sounded homely after all this time.

oOo

Despite an almost full occupancy of inpatients, the late night and early morning in Post-Op had been relatively undramatic. Charles was the last person to complain, as he scribbled his way through the paper work just before breakfast. With a stifled yawn and eyes itching from lack of sleep, he closed the final file and rose from the supervisor's desk.

When he found the nurse on duty caught up by a sponge bath, he decided, in a fit of magnanimousness, to deliver the paperwork to Colonel Potter himself, before returning to the Swamp. Rolling his shoulders that were stiff from having being trapped in the same position for hours at the desk, he plodded through the curtain that shielded the wounded from the clerk's office. He already had his hand on the swing door, when a voice made him freeze.

"Mom… Mom!" It was Agnes. "Listen…"

The female surgeon exhaled heavily. Charles stood perfectly still behind the door. She was on the phone, her back turned to him and one hand covering her ear.

"I'll be a while before I'm returning home," she continued, her voice lower. "Well, because I still have another unit to visit, that's why, and I don't really feel like going home just now."

Charles knew he was acting perfectly wretchedly by eavesdropping on her personal conversation, but the resigned tone in her voice had him tied to the spot, just like it had done the night before at her tent. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Mom, we talked about this. I have not run away and it's not a silly whim. I need some space. I need to be somewhere where I'm not constantly reminded of…" Her voice died out for a moment, before she added, softer, "him."

She was quiet for a long time, before adding. "I miss you too. I'll come home, I promise. I… Mom? Hallo?"

She sighed; they had cut her off. Charles saw her remove the headphones and place them on the table, before she left the office. He didn't move until Radar returned moments later.

oOo

Hawkeye's day had started in a very gloomy mood. The combination of Agnes' brush-off, several days of sleep deprivation and his hangover made for a depressed cocktail and after a couple of disastrous attempts to cheer up his tent made, BJ wisely held his tongue as they headed towards the mess tent.

"How could she possibly be charmed by _him_ ," Hawkeye muttered, crossing the compound.

BJ glanced at his friend.

"Was that a rhetorical question or can I answer without you biting my head off?"

"Besides his money, what could she ever find attractive about him?" Hawkeye said, glowering. "He doesn't have any _hair_."

BJ shrugged. "Maybe that's her thing: No hair, bloated ego, _loads_ of money."

"Yirk! I actually like that girl, you know."

"Tell me the truth, Hawk, has there ever been a girl in this camp, that you didn't like?"

"Sure, there was… No, wait, that was back in the Cove. Ah! That lady, you know, you probably don't remember her, she was here at some point…. Okay, not really," he mumbled, when BJ raised a brow at him. "But what's the big deal? Every woman is special and deserved to be loved in a dark, filthy storage room corner."

"So, you lose one, so what?"

"It's a matter of principle," Hawkeye said, hauling the doors to the mess tent open, a bit more aggressive than needed, "I can't lose her to _Charles_."

"Aw, relax. You heard him – he's not interested in a woman, who's soon to be married. Besides…"

Hawkeye stopped abruptly and BJ nearly tripped over him. Catching his balance again, the fair-haired surgeon looked up and caught the sight that had made Hawkeye halt dead in his tracks: Agnes and Charles eating lunch together. Despite Charles' words the day before, he looked nothing like a man who had no interest in the woman sitting opposite him.

"You were saying?" Hawkeye uttered coldly, snatching a tray, just as Charles leaned even closer to Agnes and said something that made her burst into laughter.

"Looks like a friendly lunch meeting to me," BJ said, but he wasn't even able to convince himself.

Caught in the food line, Hawkeye stared angrily at the Bostonian doctor and didn't even notice the brownish gob and the dry ham from last night that Igor dropped on his tray.

"Look at him, all smug and self-satisfied," Hawkeye growled. "I bet she's silently screaming inside."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Hawk," BJ noted mildly.

Hawkeye pretended not to hear it and continued scowling. He couldn't help it. Every time the bald-headed, blue-blooded Boston bean succeeded in making Agnes laugh, the conceited smile on Charles' face grew wider and more and more unbearable. The thought alone of punching it of the Major's self-righteous face was enough to make Hawkeye's knuckles tingle in anticipation.

"Come, let's go save her," he said.

"Hawk…" BJ began, but Hawkeye had already made for the table.

"Hey kids," he said. "Got room for us?"

"Indeed, do sit down," Charles responded, uncharacteristically gracious. "Pierce, I was just telling Agnes about the dead snake in your cot and how you awoke the entire camp with your girly scream."

"Oh?" Hawkeye sat down next to Agnes. "Did you tell her that amusing story, where you injected a soldier with curare instead of morphine last week and paralyzed… no wait – nearly killed him?" Charles smirk froze. BJ glanced at his friend.

"It was dark, I had just finished 14 hours in surgery," Charles blurted in a hollow voice, "and that man recovered completely as you well remember."

"Yeah, that's right," Hawkeye responded with a casual shrug. "That lucky devil."

A muscle started twisting in Charles' jaw. He put his knife and fork down, seized his tray and left the table. Agnes gazed after him, looking uncomfortable.

"Hawk, that was uncalled for," BJ muttered.

"Well, he should have thought about that before he started making a fool out of me. If he can't stand the smell in the bakery… where are you going?" Hawkeye asked, when Agnes gathered her tableware and got up.

"I'm done," Agnes said, smiling politely. "Please, enjoy your meals, Captains."

She left. Hawkeye looked after her in surprise and then turned around at once, groaning.

"Don't tell me she's on her way to the Swamp to offer him comfort. I might just get it over with and kill myself then."

"No," BJ said. "She walked past. She's heading towards the V.I.P. tent."

Hawkeye scoffed. "Ha! I knew it. She's doesn't care about him at all. You know, Beej, maybe it's time I made a house call."

"That ring on her finger means 'no entry'," BJ said, frowning. "Honestly, Hawk, you know she's off-limit. You're just trying to get back at Charles."

"Am not," Hawkeye huffed. BJ cast him a stern look.

"Listen pal," he said. "I've been talking to you as your friend, but now I'm gonna say something as a husband, who's also separated from the woman he loves, just like Agnes' fiancé is it: Leave. Her. Alone."

Hawkeye beckoned towards the door with a hefty gesture. "But… Charles…!"

"I'll talk in big letters to him too, if I have to," BJ assured him. "Trust me."

Hawkeye imitated the look of a grudging schoolboy.

"You're really no fun, you know that?" He sighed, when BJ continued his reproving stare. "Fine! I won't try anything. Unless of course, she comes to me…"

"She won't," BJ responded matter-of-factly.

"That was a pretty snappy answer," Hawkeye noticed in an aloof tone.

"You just behaved like a complete prick in front of her: On a scale from 1 to Arctic Winter, how hot do you think she is for you, right now?"

Hawkeye moved his mashed potatoes around with an annoyed expression.

"Okay, okay," he said. " _Maybe_ I should go apologize to her."

"Charles too."

"What?" Hawkeye blurted, gawking at him.

"What you said to him was unfair and incredibly rotten and you know it."

It took Hawkeye a long moment to swallow his pride. Almost as long as it had taken him to swallow the dried, overcooked slices of ham.

"All right, I'll talk to him," he muttered, hardly audible. "But the arrogant fink had it coming, you know."


	6. Chapter 6 - Apologies

**Chapter 6 - Apologies**

Agnes had firmly decided _not_ to be a part of whatever quarrel that had erupted between Charles and Hawkeye. It had nothing to do with her. So why, she wondered, was she right now peeking worryingly through her window at the Swamp?

She had expected more from Hawkeye, so it disappointed her, when he and Captain Hunnicutt walked past the surgeon's quarters to Post-Op, without so much as a glare at Charles, whom she could see was sitting on his bunk through the fly net.

She felt intensely bad for the tall, proud surgeon and the realization made her curse at herself.

 _You're only going to stay for another six days? Why even bother?_ _Let them fight their own battles._

But she knew she couldn't. Charles' reaction to Hawkeye's malice had been quite fierce – but also surprisingly human. The incident clearly still troubled him. Agnes couldn't blame him: Getting so close to having your hands smeared with innocent blood, was a tough case to swallow. Boy, didn't she know it?

Agnes watched the Swamp for a little while more, until she was certain BJ and Hawkeye wouldn't return. When she knocked on the wooden door, Charles growled vaguely: "Yes?"

He was drinking – cognac, if she knew him right. Just as Agnes walked in, he was filling was she suspected weren't his first glass.

She raised a puzzled brow at him. "I'm sorry Hawkeye's childish aggravation drove you to the bottle."

"Captain Pierce is far too insignificant to be the cause of my troubles," Charles muttered, before slumping down on his neatly made bed.

"Then I'm sorry your bad conscience did it," Agnes said mildly.

Charles looked down at his glass, but said nothing. Agnes gestured to the end of his bed.

"Do you mind?"

Charles shook his head and emptied half the cognac in one swig. Agnes said down next to him and waited. Finally, Charles heaved a deep sigh.

"I keep inventing all kind of excuses for my blunder," he said, his voice hardly more than a murmur. "But it's no use. What I did was inexcusable. I nearly killed that young man because of a moments carelessness. What good is a careless surgeon?" He frowned. "Imagine if the Mercy found out. I would never even be considered Chief of Thoracic Surgery, if the words spread. It could be the end of my career."

"Major, we all make mistakes. That's what separates us from robots."

"What a comforting thought," Charles responded dryly and drained the rest of the glass' containment.

"It is," Agnes said softly. "It was in fact the only thing that kept me going, when I was to blame for a young man almost dying of anaphylactic shock the first week I worked in Tokyo."

Charles swallowed the cognac, slightly regretful of his words.

"Forgive me, Captain. I had no idea."

"My point is," Agnes continued, "that the slipup did not make a worse doctor of me. On the contrary, I think it helped me improve a great deal. From now on, even at the most stressful moments of my life, I will never forget to check a patient's medical report before I administrate penicillin. And I'm positive that you're scarcely likely to make the mistake of misreading a label ever again. That's what we are supposed to do with mistakes: Learn from them, not beat ourselves up with them."

Charles glanced at her side, before eyeing up his empty glass; he hesitated, then put it down.

"True," he said thoughtfully. "I must say, for a woman who decided to come to this foyer of Hell at her own free will, you do have your bright moments."

"Tell me something, Major, are you even physically capable of speaking a whole sentence without drowning every second word in sarcasm?"

She managed to get a smile from him.

"At special occasions," he said softly and looked at her. "Thank you, Agnes."

Agnes nudged him with her elbow, before she rose from his bed.

"Anytime, Charles. See you at dinner."

He must have been drunker than he thought; he nearly felt a pang of remorse, when she left the tent without him. How silly. Well, that was it: This place had finally started to destroy him.

oOo

Even though he would never admit it, Hawkeye hung around in Post-Up a lot longer than necessary after lunch, just to avoid talking to Charles. Finally, when BJ had glanced at him significantly for the fourth time, he sighed and slunk off to the Swamp.

Charles sat lounged in his reading chair, a thick book resting in his lap and a cup of tea by his side. Hawkeye cleared his throat, when his appearance seemed to go over the Bostonians head.

"Hi," he began, awkwardly, in a too-jolly tone. "What, uh… What are you reading?"

Charles sipped his tea, but ignored him. Hawkeye stepped a little closer.

"So…" He tilted his head to read the title. "The Iliad? Is it any good?"

Charles disregarded him completely and turned a page.

"Please, no spoiler! I'm gonna read my own copy anytime soon."

Silence. Hawkeye smoothened his hair with an annoyed movement. It had always rubbed him wrong, when Charles had a hold over him, self-inflicted or not. It only made it worse knowing that Charles, as mad as he might pretend to be, was secretly enjoying it.

 _The faster I can get this over with, the sooner we'll be even,_ Hawkeye thought bitterly. He made for Charles' part of the tent and flumped down on his bunk.

"Charles," he said. "Listen, I'm sorry about what happened in the mess tent. It was stupid and I shouldn't have said it. I don't know what got into me, honest. But I'm sorry, I really am."

Nothing. Not even as much as a cold glare. Hawkeye decided he had done his best and got up from the bed. Just as he was about to leave the tent, Charles spoke out behind him in that conceited tone that always made Hawkeyes skin crawl.

"You're just envious, aren't you, Pierce?"

"Say that again?"

"Captain Clearwater looked straight through your shallow charm and decided to spend her time with someone a little more…" Charles paused dramatically to find just the right words, "worldly and sophisticated. You're not enough for her, and that's eating you up." He looked up, his blue eyes sparking in vanity. "Isn't that right?"

 _Ignore him,_ an inner voice, sounding suspiciously like BJ's, warned him. _It's only fair to let him get back at you. Leave the tent, Hawk._

But Hawkeye didn't. He eyed Charles down, ignoring BJ Cricket in his ear.

"You know what, Charles? Every person needs a friend in this camp and since nobody else wants to get near you unless you paid them to, I don't grudge you her company. I rather hope for your sake that she doesn't discover the real you."

He left and let the door clatter behind him. Charles caught himself frowning, but then he huffed and returned to the book.

oOo

After the worst part of the apology was over, Hawkeye made it his full-time mission to find Agnes. It was more difficult than he imagined: She wasn't in her tent. She wasn't with Charles (Thank you, God) and BJ hadn't seen her either. When he finally did found her, it was at the last place he had planned to search. The Officers Club. Hawkeye rarely visited the Club in daylight: It sufficed no purpose to him, before the alcohol serving was allowed.

Agnes was sitting by herself at one of the small, round tables, writing a letter. Hawkeye donned his most charming smile and strolled inside.

"Hi. Remember me?" he said, taking the other chair opposite her. "I was the one sitting at your table around lunchtime with my foot in my mouth."

"How could I forget?" Agnes responded neutrally, scribbling on.

"You're absolutely right," Hawkeye nodded. "It was a moment of complete and utter foolishness from my side. But I'll have you know, I have cleared the air with Charles and everything is fine again."

Agnes dotted her last sentence and responded serenely: "Good."

"And I'm sorry if I made things awkward between you two. It won't happen again, cross my heart. You can go on enjoying each other's company, eating lunch together and-and… getting familiar. If that's what you had in mind?"

He observed her, rather hopefully, when Agnes looked up from her letter.

"Hawkeye, I'm not interested in Winchester."

"Oh?" Hawkeye said, placing his elbow on the table with an expecting smile.

"And I'm not interested in you either."

His face crashed right to the floor. "Oh…"

"Listen, Captain," Agnes said, folding her letter up. "Your flirting is flattering, but I have no interest in starting a romantic relationship here or any other place. To be honest I would rather that the two of us could be co-workers, instead of me having this feeling that you are only talking to me, because you're bored and by that you've turned me into some kind of seducing challenge against Major Winchester."

"Me? What gives you that idea?"

"Let me see," Agnes responded and started counting on her fingers: "Major Houlihan warned me about you this morning at breakfast… so did nurse Able, not to mention all the other six nurses at the table…"

"Okay," Hawkeye said, raising his palms in defeat. "I get the picture. But I'll have you know, I've changed. I'm not the man I was last week. They are spreading old news and you'd be a fool – no offence – for listening to them."

"Aha." Agnes smiled significantly and offered her hand across the table. "Call me a fool then. Co-workers?"

Hawkeye glanced at her, resembling a puppy that has just lost its favorite chew bone.

"Captain," he said. "You're breaking my heart."

"Rumor has it, it heals pretty fast."


	7. Chapter 7 - A trip to the unexpected

_This chapter is a bit shorter than intended, but I have so little time to write at the moment :( But... Cliff hanger! Mwahaha!_

 _A big thanks to Miss-Tris who's been helping me with the grammar and spelling! The first two chapter has been improved and updated :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – A trip to the unexpected**

"That, sir," Agnes said with a chuckle, gesturing towards the frame hanging behind Potter's desk, "is a _brilliant_ painting. Absolutely spot-on."

Colonel Potter looked from her to the picture of Charles, he had painted shortly after the Major's arrival, and smirked.

"Funny – the model wasn't quite so amused with the outcome."

"No, I can imagine," Agnes said and studied Charles' furious expression. "I was just about to ask what the good Major was so mad about, but that would be a silly question, wouldn't it?"

Potter rubbed his chin.

"I have considered repainting him," he confessed to Agnes, "once he'd softened up to this place, but I'm afraid I'll be long dead and gone, _if_ it ever happens."

"I'm pretty sure Charles would rather _be_ dead and gone, than develop anything that comes close to fondness of this place."

"In my naivety, I had rather hoped that some of the other Swamp rats' laid back attitude would rub off him in time," Potter responded, pointing to another one of his painting, this time featuring Hawkeye with his feet up on the desk, happily enjoying a martini, "but I'm afraid I have failed miserably."

"Well, you know what they say: You can lead a horse to the water, but you can't force it to drink."

"A horse idiom," Potter noticed, chuckling gruffly. "You I like. Please, Captain, take a seat. I didn't bring you all the way in here to bore you with my humble hobby."

When Agnes had sat herself down on the other side of his desk, he continued: "I just got words from I-Corps – they're expecting a slow day tomorrow, so I'm proposing a morning with you playing first scalpel in OR. How's that sound?"

"Just give me a time and I'll be there with my cleanest gowns on," Agnes promised.

There was a knock on the door and Radar poked his head in.

"Uh – sir. Father Mulcahy is back from the orphanage and he wants to talk to you."

"Show him in, Radar."

Father Mulcahy squeezed past him, dusty from the trip and still wearing his helmet and with a rather apprehensive look on his face.

"Colonel, I– Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I had no idea you had company."

Potter waved him closer. "Come in, Father. The Captain and I were just talking about her lecture tomorrow."

"One of the young boys at sister Theresa's was scratched by rusty nail why I was there," Mulcahy said, wiping road dirt from his glasses. "We cleaned the wound, but I'm afraid he requires a tetanus shot. I need one of the doctors to go with me back to the orphanage."

"Of course, padre. You have my permission to swing by the Swamp and grab whomever is awake."

"Sirs, there's really no need for that," Agnes contributed. "I could go."

Potter's hesitation was obvious.

"Captain, the orphanage isn't exactly just down the road," he said.

"I would be more than happy to go," Agnes assured him. "The only part of Korea I've seen so far is the army hospitals and the roads between them."

"I must say – I prefer it that way," Potter said frowning. "The camp is the safest place around here."

"Please," Agnes said, looking from the priest to the Colonel. "Don't make me beg."

"Well, if me and my connections can't keep her safe then who can?" Mulcahys noticed with a mild smile.

Potter sighed.

"I'm losing my grip," he muttered brusquely. "Alright – but you come back with her in one piece, padre. She's not ours to lose."

oOo

The unfortunate little boy uttered an unsatisfied squall, when Agnes gave him the injection.

"Aw, come now – it wasn't that bad," she said in a comforting manner and took him from the sister's lap. "I thought you were a tough cookie – but maybe you rather want one, than be one," she said, distracting him with raisin cake from last night's dinner in the mess tent.

Seung's tears stopped immediately and soon he was happily munching his way through the cake with raisins sticking to both cheeks.

Agnes chuckled. "If all patients were as easily pleased as you."

"We have come a long way, haven't we, Seung?" sister Bendicta said mildly, smoothening the boy's black hair. "His mother was killed in a shell fire three month and he wasn't found in the ruins until days later. He was so feeble, he couldn't even cry."

Agnes was overwhelmed by the motherly instinct that laid hidden in every woman and had the fight the urge to hug the stuffing out of the poor boy.

"Good thing you ended up here, huh," she muttered softly and bounced the boy on her knees, until his chubby face split into a toothless grin. "You will find a wonderful new family one day, you adorable little munchkin – yes you will, yes you will." Noticing Mulcahy's smirk, she added: "Don't worry, Father. I'm actually very sane when there are no kids around."

"You are going to be a brilliant mother someday, Agnes," Mulcahy noted gently. He was surrounded by a group of young children, four or five years of age, and was dealing with the impossible task of having to share a box of sweet equally between the younglings.

"That's it – there is no more," he told them, when the box was empty, and he showed his hand to the kids like a black jack dealer, just to prove to them that he was in fact telling the truth. "Sorry, children."

One of the boys stole the box and ran off, pretending it was a helmet. The rest of the children hurried after him, squealing in delight. Mulcahy smiled and came over to join Agnes and sister Bendicta by the dinner table.

"I think it's time we returned to the camp, Agnes," he said. "I promised Potter we wouldn't stay away for too long, in case we got unexpected casualties."

Agnes tickled Seung until the boy squirmed with bliss and handed him back to sister Bendicta. "It's been a pleasure, sister. Don't hesitate to call if he gets the slightest of problems."

Sister Bendicta smiled.

"The pleasure is ours. I pray for you to have a safe journey back. Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Captain."

It was almost lunch time when they hit the road again. The sun was at its brightest and the air smelled of warm dust and spruce. If it hadn't been for the gaping mortar holes in the road and the uncomfortable headwear, one could almost forget that there was a war going on.

Father Mulcahy was a wonderful travel companion. He had seemed a bit shy at first, but once he realized they were both from Philadelphia, he had lightened up like a pinball machine. So far from home it was like meeting a kindred spirit when you came across someone from your own area.

"I have been away for so long, I can hardly remember all those little things that makes Philadelphia so special," the priest confided in her, about halfway back. "The smell of rain on Broad Street after a long hot summer day; the buzz of people on the Italian Market…"

Mulcahy sighed by the memories.

"… the tourists huddling in front of the Friendship Gate and blocking all traffic," Agnes added. "The delicate scent of early roses blooming in Bartram's Garden."

"Captain, you are making me weep."

She chuckled. "Sorry, Father…"

It happened out of nowhere.

There was a gunshot and one of the tires exploded. The jeep swung to the left and Mulcahy jerked at the wheel. The next shot went straight through the windscreen; glass flew everywhere and Agnes ducked with a yelp, her arms above her head. Mulcahy gasped in pain and jammed on the break.

" _What was that_?!" Agnes piped, her voice breaking in shock.

"Sniper," Mulcahy responded, clasping his arm. "Oh, dear…"

"Are you hit?"

"I think the bullet grazed me…"

"Let me see…"

Agnes removed his hand; she couldn't see how bad it was, but he was already bleeding through his uniform.

"We have to get away from here," she said, surprised at how firm her voice sound; she was shaking like Jell-o on the inside. "Can you drive?"

"I think so, yes," Mulcahy said, sounding strangely feeble. "But I doubt _he_ is going to let us."

Agnes looked up – and a sting of anxiety made her chest tightened. Five or six yards away, at the edge of the forest, stood a North Korean soldier. His face was so dirty it was hard to make out his features and he didn't say a word. But his rifle spoke loud enough: It was turned directly at them.

 _This can't be good…_


	8. Chapter 8 - Help from above

_The Korean spoken in this chapter is taken from Google Translate. It's probably completely wrong xD  
He's not saying anything terribly important, in cause you were wondering what it meant - mostly 'get out of the car!' and 'don't move or i'll shot you!'._

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – Help from above**

Time seemed to freeze for a second. The soldier stared at them, his rifle still pointing directly at them.

"Is he going to…?" Agnes couldn't finish the sentence.

"I don't know," Mulcahy whispered back.

The Korean soldier was clearly regarding them; Agnes could see the white in his eyes move in his dirty face. Then, suddenly, he took a step closer to the them and waved his rifle in direction of the trees.

"Cha-eseo nawa!" he demanded in a harsh voice. "Aus!"

"I– I think he wants us to leave the vehicle," Father Mulcahy muttered breathlessly.

 _Why? To shoot us under cover of the forest?_ Agnes heart was beating so hard, she could feel the pulse in her throat.

None of them moved. The soldier stared at them, clutching his rifle in both hands.

" _Cha-eseo nawa!_ " he repeated angrily and moved towards them, the barrel staring them in the eyes. "Aus! AUS!"

"Get out of the jeep, Agnes," Mulcahy said, his voice calm, but slightly higher than usual. Agnes grabbed the medical bag and crawled out, her knees feeling as if they had been replaced with lumps of wet oatmeal. Mulcahy stepped out on the other side, a hand clamped on his wound and the other raised in surrender.

The Korean soldier pointed to Agnes and then to the side of the road, urgently miming for her to sit down. Agnes obeyed, scared to do anything else. The soldier then made for the Father. With the muzzle pressed to Mulcahy's chest, the soldier forced him to sit down a couple of yards away from Agnes.

"No move," he sneered in broken English. "No move!"

"We won't," Mulcahy responded cautiously and the soldier went back to the jeep. It seemed he intended to change the flat tire; he found the jack and started to loosen the spare tire at the back, all why he kept glaring at them, to make sure they didn't move.

"Father, are you okay?" Agnes whispered. Mulcahy nodded, but was visibly getting paler every second and blood was now running down his sleeve. Agnes felt like she was being suffocated by too many feelings at once: Fear, the aftershock of the shooting and worry. If Father Mulcahy's heart was beating just half as fast as her own, he would be losing blood at alarming speed. Wonder how it would look on her record if she let a priest bleed to death, because she was scared?

Agnes glanced over at the soldier, who was busy placing the jack in the right place. With a deep steadying inhalation and the medical bag in one hand, she crawled over to Mulcahy.

"Is it bad?" he muttered, when Agnes had ripped his sleeve open, so she could get a look at the wound.

"Flesh wound." She reached into the bag for bandages. "Don't worry, Father. I'll have you up and ready to do signum crucis on our poor souls in no time, I promise…"

" _OI!_ "

The soldier had realized she had left her place. With a look of anger on his face, he came running towards then, rifle raised.

" _Nega mwohago issdago saeng-gaghani_?!" she shouted. " _Geuegeseo tteol-eojyeo!_ No move! No move!"

Agnes put out her bloody hands towards him.

"Listen – I'm not doing anything!" she said pleadingly. "I just have to check his wound. He's bleeding heavily."

"No! No move! _Jalilo dol-a gala_!"

"Look! _You_ did this!" She showed him Mulcahy's wounded arm. "You and your stupid rifle! So _please_ – let me take care of him."

"Agnes…" Mulcahy mumbled significantly, when the soldier kept yelling in shriek anger. He tried to grab her and yank her away, but Agnes ripped her arm out of his grip. She could feel how her own fright turned into a burning fury and she stared him down. He was a lot younger up close than she had expected. Stupid kid. How _dared_ he stand there and tell her what to do and not do and threaten her on her life. As if she hadn't been through enough already?

"Naega neoleul sson ge aniya!" the soldier yelled frustrated and shook his rifle in her face.

"Yeah, go ahead and shot me!" Agnes shouted back, blood up to both wrist because her hands were shaken so bad, she could hardly wrap the bandages properly. "I don't give a damn!"

"Agnes!" Mulcahy gulped.

The Korean soldier stared at her, while she continued to bandage Mulcahy's wound. His finger was on the trigger. Mulcahy glanced worryingly up at him.

"Now, she didn't…" he began, but then the soldier made a sudden move towards them.

The shot was unexpected. Mulcahy flinched and Agnes' heart stopped.

It took a few anguish seconds before Agnes realized, she hadn't been hit. Neither had Father Mulcahy, even though he was as pale as ever. The soldier had fired into the air.

Unfortunately, that was the beginning of a whole new, unexpected problem.

A strange sound filled the air above them: A furious humming, almost like an enormous generator warming up. They all three glanced upwards. High up in one of the trees was a big, grey football sized lump. The shot had gone straight through it and now the angry residents came storming out.

"Oh, my Lord," Mulcahy gasped. "That's a wasp's nest!"

The wasps came down on them like a raging stinger wearing black cloud, their furious buzzing almost ear shattering. The Korean soldier stood closest and he howled and tried to smite them away with his rifle, when they attacked him. Agnes panicked and threw her arms above her head, but Mulcahy picked her up and pushed her towards the jeep. The wasps followed them merciless and attacked every bit of bare skin.

Agnes threw herself in the driver's seat and started the jeep, but just as she was about to drive off, Mulcahy yelled: "Wait! We can't leave him here!"

"Are you mad! They are all over the place!"

"Drive up to him! I'll get him."

"You _are_ mad!" Agnes wailed, but she turned around and drove towards the soldier, who was now on his knees, desperately trying to shield himself towards the angry wasps. Agnes stomped on the break and Mulcahy grabbed the soldier by the arm and threw him into the backseat like a bag of potatoes.

"Go! GO!"

oOo

They pulled over a couple of miles away after a most unpleasant ride on the flat tire. Agnes turned around in the seat to checked on the soldier. He moaned in pain when she took his pulse, but he was still breathing fairly effortless, which meant no allergic reaction to the stings.

Her own face burned and she could hardly move her fingers properly – but they were alive, all three of them. Who would have thought that just fifteen minutes ago?

"Are you okay?" she asked the Father; her voice sounded as if she had aged thirty years since the last time she had spoken.

Mulcahy nodded quietly. The wound had started to bleed again and his sleeve was soaked. Agnes started the jeep.

"Tell you the truth, Father," Agnes said. "It wasn't exactly the kind of help from above I had expected when travelling with a priest."

Mulcahy smiled weakly, one of his eyes almost swollen shot.

"God works in mysterious ways," he said.

Agnes looked down at her painfully swollen hands, before putting the jeep in gear with a wince.

"Not that I'm ungrateful," she muttered. "But an army of less ferocious insects next time would be most appreciated."


	9. Chapter 9 - Be it ever so crumbled

_Thank you guys for sticking around and leaving those wonderful reviews. They are a great motivation :)  
Sadly, I'm going back to school, so I probably won't have a lot of time on my hand for writing the upcoming months, but I'll try._

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – Be it ever so crumbled, there's no place like home**

"Well, look on the bright side," Hawkeye said, while finishing the last of the stitches in Father Mulcahy's arm, "now you have a great story to tell in the O-Club tonight."

"To be honest, this is one of those stories I would rather have been without," Mulcahy responded wearily and glanced down at the wound and the I.V. drop in his arm. His hands and most of his face were swollen from wasp stings.

They had scared the camp half to death by showing up, bloody and bulging and with the enemy wounded in the back seat. BJ and Potter was tending to him in Post-Op as they spoke. The boy had been stung so many times his face looked like a skin colored balloon filled with water.

Agnes had a feeling she looked nearly as terrible. Charles had charmingly informed her how much she resembled a boxer with mumps before cleaning her up.

"You should consider yourself truly lucky," he told them, in a peskily knowing tone, "you could have encountered a bee's nest and we would still be scraping stingers out of your swollen cheeks."

"Yeah, I sure feel like one lucky potato," Agnes muttered and winched, when Charles dapped her hand with antiseptic soap water. "Ouch!"

Charles smirked. "Brace yourself, Wonder Woman. I'm almost done."

He raised her chin with a surprisingly gentle grip around her jaws, so he could apply antihistamine cream to the stings on her face.

"Did he actually shoot the nest himself?" Hawkeye said, sounding amused.

"Uh-hu."

The salt-and-pepper-haired surgeon chuckled. "Are you sure it wasn't Frank Burns in disguise? It sounds like the kind of moronic stunt he could have pulled."

"Was Major Burns really that terrible?" Agnes asked, desperate for a change of subject. After the shock had worn off, she could feel the guilt starting to sneak up on her. If that soldier had been a little less humane, she would probably had gotten them both shot instead of the wasp's nest.

"I prefer Major Elitist to him any day that sort of tells you how repulsive he was."

Charles ignored his comment with stoic dignity and finished his work. He picked up one of the metal trays and held it up to Agnes as a mirror.

"There. How's that?"

Agnes grimaced at her puffed, now red-and-white dotted face.

"Oh, God – I look like…"

"A plump Dalmatian with measles?" Charles suggested with a head tilt.

Hawkeye snorted with laughter and Agnes swiped the tray away.

"I'm so glad my misfortune can amuse you two jobbernowls," she sniffed, sliding of the operating table. Charles handed her shirt with a softening smile and she plucked it from his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

"Please, doctors," Mulcahy said gently. "Be nice to Captain Clearwater. She probably saved my life."

His words made Agnes squirm with guilt.

 _I lost my head that's all I did_ …

"You are absolutely right, Father," Charles said. "Please forgive us, Captain. We have so little to laugh at in this hell hole."

Agnes scoffed, buttoning her shirt.

"Well, the next time you lack entertainment, I'll be in Post-Op," she informed them.

She found Colonel Potter at the desk, next to the Korean soldier who appeared to be sleeping.

"He's got a butt full of antihistamine and morphine," Potter responded to her unspoken question. "So he'll be out for a while. The MP's will be here shortly to keep an eye on him, while he recovers."

Agnes nodded. Potter studied her thoughtful expression.

"How are you feeling, Captain?"

"Fine," she lied. It had started to fall her quite easy, without even thinking about it. "Just tired. It's been an eventful day."

"It sure has," Potter rumbled. "Could you keep an eye on him for a second while I get the papers for his transfer?"

"Sure."

The Colonel patted her on the shoulder and left. Agnes took his empty seat and watched the saline solution drip steadily from the I.V. bag into his veins. The boy had been highly dehydrated when they brought him in; Potter was sure he hadn't had a proper meal in days.

What had been his plans with the jeep, she wondered. To bring it back to his unit? Or to drive as far away from the war as possible – maybe just home to his family?

Lost in her own trail of thoughts, Agnes didn't hear Charles come in, before he spoke out behind he "He looks like an angel now, doesn't he?" he remarked.

"He's just a kid," Agnes said, addressed herself more than Charles. "He would never have shot us."

"No, it was awfully kind of him just graze the priest warningly in the shoulder," Charles responded sarcastically.

Agnes didn't respond. Charles followed her thoughtful gaze to the soldier's face. For a woman who had returned to the camp in one piece, she seemed more troubled that he cared for.

"Agnes…" he began.

Agnes turned to him.

"Is Hawkeye done with Father Mulcahy?" she asked, cutting him of mid-sentence.

"I suppose so, yes. Captain Pierce told him to go lie down for an hour or so. I suspect he's in his tent."

"I need to talk to him." Agnes made a gesture towards the sleeping soldier. "Could you…?"

She was gone, before Charles even had a chance to decline.

oOo

Agnes knocked very lightly on Father Mulcahys door; she didn't want to wake him up, if he was resting, but the priest responded instantly: "Come in."

It was the first time Agnes had ever been in a chaplains quarters. Mulcahy lived humbly, but very comfortable. The only thing that caught her of guard a bit, was a boxing ball in the corner of his tent.

"Do you box?" she blurted.

Mulcahy smiled. "I used to coach boxing in the Catholic Youth Organization. When I came here I found out it's a great way to relieve frustrations."

"You know, I never would have guessed." Agnes moved inside and closed the door firmly behind her. "Father, could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course," the priest responded and gestured towards an empty chair before his bed. "Please, sit down."

Agnes did. She rolled down her sleeves and Mulcahy waited patiently.

"I just… I want to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened today."

Mulcahy looked surprised: "Sorry for what?"

"For how I behaved. I literally did everything they tell us _not_ to do when taken hostage: Ignoring orders, starting a discussion with the captor…" She paused uneasily. "Actually encourage them to shot."

"I'm sure you didn't mean that," Mulcahy responded softly.

"No, of course not," Agnes muttered, but that was easy to say now. For a brief second out there she had almost meant it. The hopeless situation had stirred a familiar feeling of despair in her that she couldn't handle anymore. It was the whole reason why she was even here – to get away from that devastating feeling.

"Agnes," Mulcahy said in a firm tone and leaned forward towards her. "Look at it this way: If you hadn't upset him, that dodo would never have hit the nest and we would probably still have been out there – without a jeep."

"Or I could have gotten us both killed," Agnes muttered. She rose from the chair and paced around his tent. "It's just… I felt so useless and I _hate_ that. I have this funny aversion, you see: I don't like it when people are hurt and I'm prevented from helping them."

"Who does?" Mulcahy responded. "Agnes, surely you don't think you are the only one with a bruised guilt in this tent, do you?"

"Father, you did anything you could…"

"I got scared," Mulcahy said evenly. "I should have driven off instantly when he started shooting, but I couldn't."

"You were hurt," Agnes objected.

"Nothing life-threatening," Mulcahy said. "I still had three good tires and a working arm. I could have gotten us out of there, but I froze."

"Anyone would have done the same. I had never been so scared in my life myself."

"Then who says another doctor wouldn't have done what you did?" Mulcahy stated. "You think Hawkeye or BJ would just have let me bleed? You think they would have blindly obeyed what the soldier told them to?"

"Probably not," Agnes muttered after a trice of silence.

"Exactly," Mulcahy said with a small smile. "So maybe we should agree that we both did our best and that's why we here now. Alive and well."

Agnes returned his smile faintly. "Sounds about right."

oOo

Charles wasn't quite sure what it was about Agnes that made his thoughts linger, but he had a enerving feeling that something wasn't quite right her. She seemed a bit distracted at dinner; even Hawkeye couldn't make her release more than a halfhearted smile. Of course, she could still be marked by the frigtful events earlier that day, but now he thought about it, she had been like that since the night in the O-Club: A little quiet at times, a bit withdrawn.

While he was dumping what was left of his dinner into the trash cans outside the mess tent, Charles decide to pay her a visit. Purely by medical reasons, of course. He was a doctor after all and she was behaving strangely. He picked up another can of antihistamine cream and the record he had just received from his sister, before he went to her tent.

"Medicine delivery," he drawled, knocking on wooden door.

"Oh, _do_ come in!"

She looked relieved, when he handed her to crème.

"Thank you. I was just about to go myself. The itching is driving me insane!"

"Good thing I've brought something else to cheer you up then, my unfortunate little pincushion," Charles said, exposing the record from behind his back.

Agnes read the title and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Pierre Monteux conducting The Boston Symphony Orchestra!" she exclaimed breathless with excitement. "Oh, my word! It's impossible to come across these days. How did you get it?"

Her undisguised enthusiasm made Charles smile.

"Where there is a Winchester, there's a way," he confided in her.

"Haven't you heard it yet?" Agnes said, when he handed it to her and she realized the seal was unbroken.

"I merely received it this morning. I had planned to listen to it after lunch, but then you, the padre and your endearing friend showed up and extirpated my plans."

Agnes smiled teasingly. "Would tea make you forgive me?"

"It might."

While the tea brewed, Charles placed the record on her phonograph player and turned it on.

"A special request?" he asked.

Agnes answered without hesitation: "Waltz of the Snowflakes."

They listened in silence to the soft, impish tones and the unworldly chorus, Agnes with the slightest trace of smile on her lips the entire time. When the piece ended, she declared evenly:

"I want to marry his music."

"Yes, he is indeed quite extraordinary," Charles agreed in a quiet voice. He moved the needle and started the record from the periphery. They drank their tea to the famous tones of March of the Toy Soldiers.

Suddenly, with a distracted look in her eyes, Agnes said: "Theo hates it."

Charles looked at her. "Your fiancé?"

She nodded, not taking her eyes of the spinning record. "He loves jazz though, but that's not really my cup of tea. You can imagine the discussion, when we wanted to go dancing."

"You don't go anymore?" Charles asked, noticing the past time.

She merely shook her head and no further explanation came. When the first page finished, she asked: "How about your family? Are they all music lovers?"

Charles nodded his head in confirmation. "I was literally brought up in the theater. My mother is a concert pianist and my sister is a very skillful, though quite shy, clarinet player."

"I didn't know you had a sister," Agnes said softly; she had for some reason taken him for being an only child. "A younger one?"

"Seven years younger."

"I have a little sister too. Elizabeth. Two years younger than me." She reached for a frame on her night stand and showed it to Charles. It was a picture of a fair-haired woman, a tall man and a baby in a Christening gown. "That's her husband, Robert, and their daughter, Emily."

"The two of you looks nothing alike," Charles concluded.

Agnes chuckled. "She looks like our mother. I resemble my dad, I'm afraid."

"Well, I suppose that makes your father a striking man indeed."

She returned his significant smile with an impish smirk.

"That almost sounded like something Hawkeye could have come up with," she said, brushing him aside, but Charles noticed the becoming blush in her cheeks, before she could hide it behind her tea cup.

"Don't judge me," he entreated. "I do spend a horrible amount of time with the buffoon. At some point, it was due that his hackneyed remarks would spoil me."

A sudden loud crackle from the P.A. system made both of them lower their cups.

 _"Attention!"_ said the voice, cutting mercifully through Waltz of The Flowers. _"Incoming wounded. Don't worry, guys. We've got plenty, so you don't have to worry about a dull night."_

Charles sighed and scrambled to his feet.

"This war does have a talent for destroying every fine moment in this camp," he growled.


	10. Chapter 10 - Just another day at the

**Chapter 10 – Just another day at the office**

The wave of wounded I-COR had promised, turned out to be a regular flood: Two o'clock that night the entire staff of the 4077th were still in OR and there was no visible end to it.

Agnes had already been through two amputations, several internal bleedings, a knee reconstruction and a now a shattered throat and a chest full of shrapnel. Her neck was sore, her feet tired, but at least she still felt tolerably awake. It helped a great deal that she worked opposite Hawkeye, who knew exactly what to do, when things got a bit to heavy:

"I had a wonderful dream last night," he told Agnes, when his patient was wheeled out. "Wanna hear it?"

"Is it suitable for a young audience?"

"You always think the worst of me."

"Gee, wonder why?" Agnes glanced up and Hawkeye looked wide-eyed and puppylike back at her. She sighed and softened. "All right, tell us about the dream."

"Okay, I had just unzipped her dress…"

"Pierce, you abhorrent swine," Charles chided drily behind Hawkeye, when Agnes broke into helpless laughter against her will.

"What?" Hawkeye huffed back at Charles. "You don't know what I was going to say. Maybe I exposed her as an alien, all green skinned and black-eyed?"

"Knowing you," Charles said wryly, "that probably didn't stop you the slightest."

"Could we please keep a civil tongue in here?" Margaret commanded, piercing the two men with her eyes from the other side of OR.

"I try, Margaret, honestly, but it got drafted with me. I tried to get it home on a Section 8, but the board found my answers a bit to tongue-in-cheek and sent me back."

"Oh, Pierce!"

The chief surgeon wiggled his brows at her and turned his attention to his new patient.

"Hi there," he said friskily. "You're one lucky gun, you know that? These late-night shows get sold out quicker than an ice cream stand in Sahara."

The soldier glanced at him uncertain from under the mask.

"Don't worry," Hawkeye said, smiling at him. "The next time you open your eyes, it will all be over. Goodnight, sweet prince and dream a little dream of me." He put out his hand for fresh gloves and burst into a shivering tenor: "Staaaaaars fading but I linger on, dear! Still craving your kiss!"

"Oh, good Lord," Charles groaned, when BJ joined in. Agnes was glad she was wearing a mask; she could only imagine, how piqued Charles would be, if he could see how wide she was grinning behind it.

oOo

Around seven o'clock, when the sun rose above the mountains, Agnes was sent out for thirty minutes of rest. Though it was more than needed it also meant waking up the surgeon that was going to replace her, an ungrateful task that never failed to make her feel like the most heartless person in the world.

"BJ?" she whispered, shaking his shoulder. "They need you in OR."

The tall, mustached surgeon muttered something inaudibly in his sleep and fell back into a slumber. Agnes patted him lightly on the side of the head.

"BJ. There's a patient waiting for you."

BJ's eyes fluttered open. He glanced groggily up at her.

"Who?"

"A belly wound."

He rubbed his face and staggered to his feet.

"How are you holding up?" he asked her through a massive yawn.

Agnes stretched out on the bench and sighed.

"Not bad. I'm looking forward to see how well you guys are paid in overtime next month."

BJ patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. "Keep dreaming, kid."

He walked into OR and held the door for the nurse, Agnes had been working with all night – Lieutenant Harris. Agnes like her: She was young, but very skillful. Even after nearly 12 hours in OR, you couldn't even tell that she was tired.

"Excellent work in there, Harris," she greeted her, when the nurse sank down on the bench on the other side of the hallway and rubbed her stiff neck.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Agnes."

Nurse Harris pulled her mash down and smiled at her. "Gail. And you did a great job too – I was sure we had to amputate that leg. What a mess."

"I hope it hasn't deterred you from becoming a doctor after all?" When Gail gaped with her in honest surprise in her chocolate-brown eyes, Agnes clarified: "When I drove to the orphanage with Father Mulcahy, he mentioned that one of the nurses was studying for Medical School. Since you were the only nurse reading _The Anatomy Atlas_ at dinner, it wasn't that hard to figure out who it was."

"I haven't actually told the other nurses yet," Gail responded quietly. "I don't want them to get their hopes up, in case I can't do it."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Besides, I think you'll do just fine. You've got just the right amount of stubbornness and industriousness to make it as a medical student."

"You don't think I ask to much?"

"Are you kidding?" Agnes stifled a yawn. "It's the only thing that's keeping me awake in there."

Gail huffed a tired chuckle. "Major Winchester doesn't like it, when I do it."

"That's because the only voice Charles likes to listen to, is his own," Agnes informed her, halfway asleep. Gail looked perplexed by her brutally honest opinion about a fellow surgeon, but Agnes smiled it off. She had no anger towards Charles. Despite all his obvious personality flaws, she quite liked the Major and after having worked just a couple of feet away from him all night, she had started to grow a genuine admiration for him as well. No matter what cruelty the corpsmen brought in – men swimming in their own blood, men with half their faces gone, men who looked like they had been through a meat grinder – he just went straight to work. Once in a while, she would hear BJ mutter 'Oh, boy…' or Hawkeye or Potter sigh deeply, when a particular grim case was rolled in, but never Charles. Nothing seemed to be able to shake him.

He wasn't the fastest surgeon in there (neither was Agnes though – you can only learn so much of conveyer-surgery in a month), but he was thorough and she had just witnessed him perform two arterial grafts at five o'clock in the morning, without so much as a second's hesitation. How could you not admire that?

oOo

"How long can it take to produce a simple X-ray?" Charles growled and dropped another shrapnel into the emesis basin that the nurse held out for him. "What's the Lebanese mongoose during?"

"Charles, you can't expect him to perform wonders with a machine that's was already outdated in the last war," Agnes said, rubbing her tired eyes with the back of her wrist.

"Always the diplomat," Charles noticed. "Retraction, please."

She winked at him teasingly with both eyes behind the mask. "Only because I know how much it annoys you."

He huffed, just as Klinger entered the OR, the cape of his Red Cross nurse uniform flapping behind him.

"Here's the X-ray you ordered, Major."

Charles poured him a sour look. "About time."

"That's Winchester-ish for 'thank you very much, Klinger," Agnes added in an appeasable manner and Klinger awarded them both an exhausted grin.

"You're welcome, Major," he said graciously to Charles, before moving on to the next table. Charles glanced at his assisting surgeon on the other side of the table.

"You are spoiling him," he grumbled.

"I know." Agnes pretended to glare after the corporal with a provoked frown. "And I really shouldn't. That upstart is brash enough as it is. I mean, just look at his infallible nails and the way he has conquered those heels. He makes the rest of us women look like a bunch of slobs."

Charles tried not to smile, but he was drained, sweaty, his back was killing him and that cognac-eyed creature of a wonderfully wicked woman, raised a brow at him, challenging him to say another unkind word about her favorite dress-wearing corporal, and he just simply couldn't help himself.

oOo

16 hours and 43 minutes. That's how long the first wave lasted. Almost 17 hours from the ambulances started pulling up in front of Pre-Op, to Father Mulcahy came into OR to announce that BJ had gotten the last patient.

"Get some sleep, boys," Potter said wearily before leaving. "The next wave is just an hour or so away."

Hawkeye staggered after Charles out of OR, ready to keel over at the first plain surface that presented itself. Agnes was already flat out on a bench, one arm draped over her face, covering her eyes from the bright ceiling light. Charles dragged himself over to her.

"Room for one more?" he asked, dapping at her boots.

Without moving her arm, Agnes raised her legs and as soon as Charles was seated, she plunked them down in his lap. To Hawkeyes immense surprise, the proud Bostonian let her do it, bloody gowns and all. Either he was too tired to argue or – and Hawkeye found the latter very worrying – he just didn't mind her doing it. If it had been anyone else, Charles would have shoved them of the bench in a heartbeat.

"You know, we could all walk over to the Swamp for a nap," Hawkeye said. "Be a lot more comfortable."

"And waste two minutes walking, where I could be sleeping?" Charles murmured, nesting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. "No, thank you."

"But…"  
"Pierce – shut up."

oOo

He must undoubtedly have fallen asleep. The next thing Charles detected was that he was being shaken awake by an insisting hand around his shoulder.

"Sorry, Major, but we need the two of you in OR as soon as possible, we've just got another bus of wounded," he heard Klinger say and the corporal pressed a cup of coffee into his hand. "Here. Try and share, we're almost out."

Charles rubbed his face violently in attempt to clear his foggy brain. 17 straight hours in OR on top of a 12 hour working day and there were still no end to it. He was ready to give up anything – his fortune, his house, his name – for just one decent hour of sleep. He drank from the cup and pulled a face. Hell, right now he was ready to give it all up for just a proper cup of coffee.

With a sigh, he tried to get up from bench – only to find out that something heavy pinned his already defiant lower body down. He glared at the pair of white-dressed, bloodstained legs resting on his thighs, for several seconds until his fatigued mind finally made a connection.

"Agnes?"

"Mmm?"

"My lap, which you are currently using as a pillow for your feet, could I have that back, please?"

"Not really, no," she muttered.

Charles grabbed hold of her ankles and plopped her feet to the floor. Agnes let out a dissatisfied groan, when he then continued to haul her to a vertical stand. He handed her the rest of the coffee.

"Charles," Agnes said faintly, after two mouthfuls of coffee, "do you remember the last patient I worked on?"

"Hardly."

"Me neither. Should I be worried?"

"That would only be a waste of precious energy, my dear," Charles responded worldly-wise and helped her tie her surgical mask again.


	11. Chapter 11 - Keep dreaming

**Chapter 11 – Keep dreaming**

"Urgh," was Hawkeye's first word, when he stepped out of the scrub room late that afternoon; he squinted against the bright sunset and raised his arm above his head in a noisy yawn that nearly dislocated his jaw.

"That's just typical," BJ murmured behind him. "Such a beautiful day and we totally miss it."

"Don't worry. You can still enjoy the Korean summer tomorrow – and the day after that, and the day after that. Maybe even the whole next summer, if you're lucky."

BJ sighed and moved his tired corpus after his friend towards the mess tent. He would rather have gone straight to bed and slept for four or five days, but his stomach felt like a big, empty noting; the only nutrition they had gotten since yesterday, had been ham sandwiches and powdered juice.

Agnes had beat them to the food line and when Hawkeye saw her, he visibly hoisted his long-limbed frame up and slid in behind her, purring:

"Hey, what's cockin' good lookin'?"

"Glob, apparently," Agnes responded in a dead-pan tone, frowning slightly by the sight of the lumped sauce that Igor dropped on her tray. "And _that_."

They all three stared at what they suppose was meat, but bore an uncanny resemblance to dark leather.

"That looks like something that fell of a mummy," BJ said with genuine revulsion in his voice. "Igor, for how many years did the cook fry it?"

"Listen, I have nothing to do with the cooking, a'right?" the lanky Private responded with growing annoyance. "It's more than enough that I have to serve it. Are you Captains having it or not?"

"Well, I'm in an experimental mood today," Hawkeye said with halfhearted joviality and held out his tray. "Fill me up, Igor."

"How about you, Captain?" Igor said, hovering a piece of meat near Agnes' tray. She retreated politely.

"Eh, no thanks. I just remembered, Thursday is my vegetarian-day."

She filled her glass with water and put it down to grab a knife and fork – only to find it had disappeared when she wanted to pick it up again. She looked around; Hawkeye grinned at her. It took her battered brain a couple of seconds to comprehend that he was holding her glass in his hand, way out of her reach.

"Hawkeye, give me my water back," she growled, much too tired to deal with his childish conduct.

"You need to pay the ransom first," he told her, tapping a finger to his smirking lips.

"What – a punch in the maw?"

"Yes, with your lips on it."

Agnes sighed. "Seriously? This trick is so old, it's got whiskers on it."

"Well, if it works, so… Hey!" he blurted, when someone taller snatched the glass out of his hand; Hawkeye turned around and was greeted by Winchester's scowl.

"Charles, you are no fun," Hawkeye sulked.

"You are revolting, Pierce," the Bostonian said unemotionally and handed the glass back to Agnes. Hawkeye noticed how his tone got obviously softer, when he addressed her instead: "Here you go, Captain."

"Thank you, Major," Agnes responded graciously, trading Hawkeye's indignant expression with a complacent smirk, before she followed Charles to a vacant table.

Hawkeye picked up his tray with a huff. Those two were getting a bit too close for his liking.

oOo

 _She walks up the familiar staircase, the wooden handrail smooth under her palm and the squeaking steps hollow from hundreds and hundreds of feet that have marched up and down in decades. The stair leads her past his old place and she feels an airy pang of sorrow when she remembers that there is another family living there now._

 _Finally she reaches her own apartment. The door is unlocked. A little puzzled, but mostly worried, she sneaks inside._

 _He is standing right there in the tiny kitchen. Her heart leaps. He turns around when he hears her and smiles and her heart gives another painful jump._

 _"Hey, Ness. How was work?"_

 _"What are you doing here?"_

 _He laughs. "I live here."_

 _"No, I mean…"_

 _She tries to walk closer, but even though she feels herself moving, she doesn't get any closer to him. She is about to cry. Why can't she get to him? Why can't she hold him – feel him?_

 _Then someone knocks on the door behind her._

"Captain?"

 _He smiles at her._

 _"I believe you are needed, doctor Ness," he said softly._

 _The knocking continues; it echoes in the hallway – in her body. She's pulled away from him by an invisible force, before she realizes what is happening… before she can stop it…_

"Captain Clearwater?

Agnes opened her eyes and was momentarily blinded by the blissful morning sun that came in through her window. She had been so tired last afternoon when she went to bed that she had forgotten to close the curtains.

She lay completely still for a second, fighting to keep the empty grief in its place. This really wasn't the time…

"Just a second," she croaked, when Radar knocked for the third time. She tumbled out of bed and grabbed her pants. A glimpse of the clock on her night stand told her it was almost nine o'clock. She had been sleeping for fourteen straight hours. No wonder she felt like she'd been hit over the head with a sledge hammer.

"It's one of your patients," Radar informed her, when she opened the door. "Hawkeye says his drain is too bloody."

"Shit," Agnes blurted before she could contain herself. "Sorry. Where's Hawkeye?"

"He's waiting in Post-Op."

She halfway ran to the ward and found Hawkeye sitting by her patient's side, going over his journal.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"How is he?"

"Don't worry, he's not exactly dying," Hawkeye responded, handing over the clipboard. "His blood pressure is a bit low and there's too much blood in the drain. How did he look inside?"

"Like a target board for machine gun practice." Agnes frowned and checked the soldiers pulse. He was a young blond kid from Illinois and he had come in with the second wave with a nasty looking chest wound. She knew she should have waited and handed him to Charles, but time had worked against them. A most unpleasant thought occurred to her: Had she missed something in there?

"We're giving him another unit of blood," Hawkeye said. "Let's give it an hour, before we do anything drastic."

Agnes agreed, but deep down she knew it wouldn't help. She was still monitoring her patient, when Hawkeye returned from breakfast an hour later. The boys blood pressure had just dropped again to a worrying low level.

"I missed something," Agnes said and looked up at the dark-haired surgeon. "We need to open him up again."

Hawkeye nodded. "I'll get him prepped. In the meantime…" He handed her a tray with slices of bread, a lump of powdered eggs and a glass of orange juice. "Here. You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Agnes objected.

"Starving yourself won't help him. Eat. I don't want to see you in OR, unless that tray is empty, got that?"

Agnes picked up the toast and sighed. "Yes, mother."

"That's my girl," Hawkeye said, patting her on the head, until she whapped his hand away with a feign scowl.

oOo

"Found it," Agnes declared half an hour later. It was a small slit in his transverse colon, behind the stomach, that was leaking blood into his chest cavity. Hawkeye handed her the suture.

"Everyone could have missed that," he said gently.

Agnes shook her head. "As if he hadn't been through enough. I knew I should have asked Charles or one of you guys to help me. I'm no near experienced enough to handle these cases."

"Will you get off your own bag? He's gonna be fine. You made a tiny mistake, but you also fixed it."

Agnes pretended she was too busy stitching to answer.

"He was one of your last patients, right?" Hawkeye proceeded. "How can they expect us to save lives, when we're lying unconscious from sleep deprivation under the operating table?"

"It's no excuse," Agnes said, reaching out for another sponge.

"Maybe not," Hawkeye responded in a surprising lenient tone. "But we've all been there. Don't think you're the only surgeon in this camp who missed a bleeder. Even Winchester, Sublime Surgeon, makes mistakes – and if that isn't a comfort, I don't know what it is."

Agnes felt herself smiling a little.

"Thanks," she said – and meant it. "You know, when you're not unbearably flirtatious loudmouth, you're actually quite all right."

"And you're quite cute if you think I won't go right back to be unbearable after this session," Hawkeye remarked, the familiar look of mischief sparkling in his blue eyes.

"Gullibility is one of my weaknesses," Agnes admitted.

oOo

Agnes spend so much time in the scrub room afterwards, she was surprised to find that Hawkeye was waiting for her outside the curtains. He smiled, but when it took her a while to force a smile back, he cocked his head.

"You okay?"

It hadn't been good for her to be alone in the female changing room. Her thoughts had drifted back to the dream and she had scrubbed her hands so hard, she could feel the skin tingle. She decied to stay with her usual tactic: Lying.

"I'm fine, I'm just…" She was about to say 'tired' as a reflex, but since she had just sleep fourteen hours, it sounded a bit hollow, even to her.

"It was a tough night," she finished. _Both of them…_

"I know what's gonna cheer you up," Hawkeye said and followed her outside, his lanky frame dangling next to her. "You, me, some candles and a bottle of Swamp-wine in the supply tent."

She chuckled resignedly. "You are one preserving guy, you know that?

"Is it working?"

"Not for a second. But I admire your endurance, so I'll be fair. If you can answer a simple question about me, I'll go out with you."

"All right – shoot!"

"What color are my eyes?"

"What color are your– That's it?" He sounded surprised.

"That's it," she confirmed.

Hawkeye came to a halt, pondering, and tried to cheat by leaning forward, but Agnes turned her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"They are… Uh–" He hesitated, clearly not having the slightest of ideas. "The color of… outmost beauty?"

Agnes opened her eyes – brownish and green, Hawkeye realized – to glare at him. _Really?_ He ransacked his brain to come up with a witty answer, hopefully one clever enough to save him.

"How do expect me to remember _one_ color, when I'm completely dazzled by the whole you."

Agnes snorted. "Nice try."

oOo

Hawkeye heaved the deepest of sighs when he returned to the Swamp. Charles ignored him, not even moving his eyes from the book he was reading, but BJ poured him a look, while cleaning his shaver.

"Somethings bothering you or did your lungs just collapse?"

"I just can't get that girl to go out with me," Hawkeye groused and slumped into the folding chair beside his bunk.

BJ removed the last of the shaving cream and peeked at him. "Agnes?"

"Uh-hu. I was actually _this_ close…" He illustrated about the quarter of an inch between his thumb and forefinger, "to having her persuaded in going out with me, but then she asked what color eyes she had and I couldn't answer that."

"Aren't they…" BJ hesitated, knitting his eyes brows together, "…brown or something?"

"Hazel," Charles responded matter-of-factly, apparently without stopping his reading. Hawkeye gaped at him. He then looked at BJ with a brow raised in puzzlement and then back at Charles again.

"That was surprisingly specific, Chuckie."

Charles turned a page, untouched by Hawkeye's deliberately casual tone. "To you, maybe. For a brighter creature, it's a simple matter of observation skills."

BJ's moustache curled upward in a cunning smile.

"To a brighter creature, it would sound like _someone_ had indeed been observing Captain Clearwater quite intense lately," he said innocently.

"Don't be absurd," Charles said calmly.

"What else have you _observed_ about her, Charles," Hawkeye persisted. "Her favorite perfume? The color of her nightdress?"

BJ chortled. Charles closed his book with a small sigh and turned towards them.

"Pierce, I know the idea is beyond outrageous to you, but it is in fact possible for a man and a woman to form a meaningful, unsexual relationship as mere friends and that is precisely how I regard Captain Clearwater. She's an interesting, intelligent woman and I appreciate her company – as a friend."

"Sure," Hawkeye said innocently. "A friend – who also happens to be a _girl_."

BJ started humming: "Charles and Agnes are sitting in a tree – K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"You know – if the two of you would grow up, it would make my stay are considerably more pleasant." Charles made a dramatic pause and smiled. "But I suppose that is equally as likely as Pierce getting a date with Captain Clearwater."

BJ burst into his characteristic booming laugh, when Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"You're funny. But I bet you couldn't get a date with her either."

"I have no intention of trying that," Charles dispelled him, "since I do not woo women who are already spoken for. Unlike _someone_ in this tent, I do possess the simplest of manners."

"Manners, smanners," Hawkeye said, waving his hand dismissively in the air. "How far do you think that'll get you? If you haven't got charm that's like putting lipstick on a cow, believing it's gonna turn out pretty."

Charles frowned of revulsion. "Pierce, your homespun analogies are as tawdry as the 'charm' of yours, you're so proud off."

"Oh, what do you know about what's going on down here in the real world, your blue-blooded sardine," Hawkeye jeered. "BJ agrees with me, right, Beej?"

"Don't get me involved in this," BJ said, rinsing his shaver. "Besides, didn't I tell you to leave her alone?"

"Mmm, nope, that must have been Charles, you were talking to."

"Oh, let the child, Hunnicutt," Charles said with a scornful smirk, before returning to his book. "He obviously enjoys making a fool out of himself and he's running out of time: Captain Clearwater is moving on the day after tomorrow."

Hawkeye's eyes widened. "What! It hasn't been a week already?"

"Time flies when you're having fun," BJ noticed acerbically and drifted back to his bunk.


End file.
